


Reunited

by Maculategiraffe



Series: How Life Goes On, The Way It Does [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon Divergent for the Far Harbor DLC, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Far Harbor, Friendship, Kasumi is back in the Commonwealth getting kisses, Main Game Spoilers, Major far harbor spoilers, Motherhood, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Main Storyline, coursers are also synths tho, far harbor dlc, railroad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maculategiraffe/pseuds/Maculategiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after destroying the Institute, Nora takes a ghoul, a former courser, and a discarded prototype synth north to check out this Acadia business.</p><p>What could possibly go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oh, sweet thing, Zion doesn't love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Vampire Weekend, "Ya Hey"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-BznQE6B8U))

“What the fuck?”

They were the first words we heard in Far Harbor, as the four of us walked up the pier, towards a woman and a man.

“They’ve got a fuckin’ ghoul!” yelled the man, and his gun cocked. I stepped instinctively in front of Hancock, only for, one second later, X9-21 to step in front of me, gun out and pointed at the man.

“Stand down, X9,” I said. “We’re friendly, guys. All four of us. We’re from the Commonwealth. I’m Nora Bowman. I’m the General of the Minutemen?”

Blank stares. It had been awhile since I got blank stares over that one. Not everybody in the Commonwealth liked me, but most people knew who I was.

“What brings you to Far Harbor?” the woman asked, stepping forward. She looked like she was in her fifties, with a creased forehead and cheeks, grey-brown hair, and an air of gentle, reasonable authority. “And why do you have a ghoul…” She squinted past me at Hancock. “Dressed in… a tricorn hat? And a… frock coat?”

“This is my husband,” I said.

The woman and the man exchanged glances.

“And _that’s_ why we don’t trust mainlanders,” said the man, who had a pugnacious jut to his chin and a wool cap pulled down low over his hairline. “How about you freaks just head back where you came from?”

“Hey now,” said Hancock. “Don’t you call my wife a freak.”

There was a silence, as they stared at him. 

“Did he—speak?” asked the woman. “The ghoul?”

“You don’t have ghouls up here that talk?” Nick asked. 

The man said, “What the fuck is _that_? Jesus, look at its face!”

"Enough with the red carpet treatment," said Nick dryly. "If rubber could blush--"

“X9-21,” I said, “put your gun away. Nobody’s shooting anybody. We come in peace. I’m Nora, and you are?”

“Captain Avery,” said the woman. “Why are you here?”

Before I could quite think how to answer, a commotion broke out, and Captain Avery said, “Maybe you can help us. That thing—oh, it’s armed. Oh, they’re both armed. Well—good. Come this way.”

…………………………………………………………..

I’d seen a lot of horrifying shit since waking up in a world of giant mutated cockroaches and radioactive scorpions and mirelurk queens the size of houses, but it had been awhile since I saw anything I hadn’t seen before, and the things that charged out of the fog of Far Harbor made me, briefly, want to shriek and bury my face against someone’s imperturbable shoulder, the way I used to bury my face against Nate’s during the scariest parts of movies. 

I didn’t, of course. I got out my rifle and started shooting. 

The things gleamed horribly under the streetlights, and jerked even more horribly when a bullet hit them, with a scream in several unbearable frequencies. X9-21’s energy bolts sizzled and smelled hideous, like burning mud. Hancock, apparently motivated by nostalgia, had brought along Fahrenheit’s Ashmaker, and the way the things spasmed and flailed when they caught on fire made my gorge rise. At one point, Hancock stopped shooting long enough to grab an injector of Overdrive from the ever-present leather pouch on his gun belt and stab it, with practiced speed, into his arm through the sleeve of his coat. I felt a brief but intense spasm of rage at X9-21 for bullying me into leaving my chems behind; I would have given anything right then, not only for the strength and accuracy boosts, but for the sense of unreality they always gave me, the merciful blurring of any feeling except _raaar! Bring it!_

By the time the-- _things_ \-- were all dead, I was shaking. Hancock glanced at me, then took my arm. I didn't protest. He still had the chems to bolster him; I'd let him bolster me for a minute.

“Well,” said Captain Avery, as we descended from the barricade, me leaning lightly on Hancock's arm and trying to breathe normally. “Allen, you can’t deny that the strangers fought well for us, just now.”

“I guess,” he said. “Still don’t know how I feel about somebody giving a ghoul a gun.”

“Look,” I said, my voice shaking a little despite my best efforts. “This is my _husband_. I wasn’t kidding. He’s not a feral ghoul—he’s a—a normal ghoul.”

“Gnarly on the outside, normal on the inside,” Hancock agreed. “Well, for certain values of _normal_. You don’t have folks like me up here?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen,” said Captain Avery. “And the—“ Her eyes moved to Nick, appraising. “The mechanical man?”

“Well put,” said Nick. “A mechanical man, that’s me. Nick Valentine, synth detective, at your service.”

“Synth?” repeated Captain Avery. “I was under the impression that synths looked like humans.”

“The latest models do,” said Nick. “I’m obsolete. But still kicking.”

Avery looked at X9-21, who looked back at her without speaking. I could see her sizing him up. There was nothing non-human about his appearance, unless you counted his expression, the way he didn’t smile or scowl or raise his eyebrows or otherwise respond to her searching glance. He just looked at her.

“Well,” she said finally. “You never answered me, before. What brings you to Far Harbor?”

“We’re looking for a place called Acadia,” I said, my voice steadier now, the horror of the _things_ wearing off. “Do you know of it?”

“Well, yes,” she said. 

“What do you know about it?”

She hesitated. “May I ask why you want to know?”

We’d decided, already, not to be any cagier than we had to be, about who we were and why we were here. There was nothing about the truth that should cause anyone alarm, after all-- except the bad guys, and them, we _wanted_ to alarm. 

“I know someone who got in contact, via radio, with someone claiming to be from Acadia, and encouraging her to come north and join them,” I said. “It seemed shady. I thought I’d come up here and check it out. Make sure people aren’t being—victimized. Nick, here, is a detective, and he decided to come along to help. And, like I said, this is my husband, John Hancock, and this is my—“ I hesitated for a moment—they already thought we were weird enough—and then decided what the hell, they already thought we were weird enough. “My son. My—adopted son. Designation X9-21. He’s a--" I hesitated again. _Former courser?_ No. "Synth. One of the human-looking ones.”

“Well,” said Captain Avery, sounding a bit dazed. “Welcome to Far Harbor. I can give you directions to Acadia—or if you’d like a guide, we have an experienced islander here who would be happy to accompany you. I’m sure you’d like to rest first, though—there are rooms available above the Last Plank.“

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe that would be a good idea. Take a breather, explore the town, sleep here tonight, and then start fresh in the morning.”

“I think it _would_ be a good idea,” she said. “It isn’t more than a few hours’ walk from here, but-- there are dangers in the woods. As you’ve just seen—the creatures that come out of the Fog—and there are trappers, humans who’ve been driven mad by the Fog, and ghouls—well, feral ghouls. And super mutants.”

“Yeah, we’re from the Commonwealth,” I said. “Everything’s mostly always trying to kill you there, too. Thanks, Captain.”

“Thank _you_ ,” she said. “For your help defending the Hull. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t believe Acadia is a threat. I believe they’re simply a settlement of—runaway synths?” She looked at X9-21, who looked back at her levelly. “Well. In any case. Welcome. Feel free to look around.”

She walked away. X9 watched her go.

“So,” I said. “Who’s hungry?”

“I’m so hungry, I could eat one of those whatever-they-are-we-just-killed,” said Hancock. “Well. Maybe not that hungry. But yeah, I could eat. Let’s see what’s good around here.”

…………………………………………………………

“Is it my imagination,” I said, as we wandered through town, “or are people not very friendly around here?”

“Maybe it’s because we’re a bunch of freaks,” said Hancock.

I noticed, as we passed, a man in glasses, with floppy hair, leaning over a counter; he opened his mouth to speak, looking cheerful, and then he went so white that it startled me. I saw that his eyes were fixed on X9-21. As I watched, he produced a gun, slowly, from under the counter, and held it lightly in his hand, not aiming it, just holding it.

Before I could speak, X9-21 noticed, too. He looked the man up and down, his eyes lingering on the gun, then returning to the pale, frightened face.

"You won't need that, L7-92," he said, very quietly. "I'm not here to reclaim you."

"Then what--" the man whispered. He was staring at me now, fingering the trigger of his gun. It would have made me more nervous if the safety hadn't been on, and if X9-21 hadn't seemed pretty relaxed. “Who is she? She's-- she looks like-- like Father.”

My heart skipped a beat. No one had ever told me that before. Maybe it was because I wasn’t in the habit of showing up places with a courser, so the association wasn’t as easy to make. 

“I’m—“ I couldn't think what to say. _His mother. Your mother._ It sounded like nonsense.

“She is his heir,” said X9-21, his voice still quiet enough for no one but the five of us to hear, “and she has terminated all functions and facilities of the Institute. You and your fellow runaways are free. She does not require your service, or your return to the Commonwealth. She has come here out of concern for your welfare. Are you well?”

Dumbstruck, his mouth hanging slightly open, the synth nodded.

“Can we assist you in any way?”

He shook his head.

“Then you're of no concern to us,” said X9-21. "You may go about your business."

"Wait, X9-21," I said, and turned back to the synth. "What's your name?"

"Brooks," he said. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Brooks, do you know anything about Acadia?"

He shook his head. "No, I-- no."

"He's lying, ma'am," said X9-21, dispassionately.

“OK,” I said. “Well. Nice to meet you, Brooks. We'll leave you alone now. Sorry we scared you.”

I moved on, and my three companions moved with me, leaving Brooks staring after us.

“Well, I guess that could’ve gone worse,” I said, as we pushed open the red door into the bar. "He could've actually shot at us."

"That would have drawn more attention than he was prepared to deal with, unless he believed his life was in danger," said X9-21. 

"I should've thought of this," I said. "That we might run into synths before we ever got to Acadia, and that you'd scare them. Well, too late now. Nice summation, by the way. I think you put the whole thing a lot more succinctly than I could have."

"Thank you, ma'am," said X9-21.

The bar was nice enough, and the bartender was friendly and didn’t comment on either Hancock’s or Nick’s appearance. Maybe word had already started to spread through town. We ordered and got some food, and sat down.

“So,” I said. “We head out tomorrow morning, early.”

“L7-92 may leave tonight, to warn Acadia that we're on the way,” said X9-21.

Hancock shrugged. “Might. But we’re not gonna stop him by force, and I didn't get the impression that talking more at him about how much we don't mean him any harm was gonna be all that helpful. Either he believes you, or-- not. You know, though, he seemed pretty loyal to Acadia. Maybe they're not as awful as we thought.”

“He could be a shill for them,” said Nick. “Or a patsy. Send synths along, not knowing what happens to them once they get there. Or knowing, and not caring. Just because he’s a synth doesn’t mean we can trust him.”

“Or he could just be too scared to talk," I said. "Well-- either way, it’s out of our hands. Like Hancock says, we’re not going to tackle him and tie him up to stop him from telling, and I don’t think there’s any percentage in trying to race him to Acadia. We get some sleep tonight, we head out in the morning, and we see what we see.”

“Ma’am,” said X9-21. “I don’t require sleep.”

“Neither do I,” said Nick, “but these two do.”

“If you send me ahead, this evening,” said X9-21, completely ignoring Nick, “it will save me a wasted night, and you time and effort.”

I squinted at him suspiciously. “Like to chase down Brooks and do some more persuading?”

“No, ma’am,” said X9-21. “To clear an initial stretch of our path. The creatures we encountered trying to breach the boundaries of this settlement probably roam at random, but if my observations from the Commonwealth hold true here, there will be buildings and camps inhabited by feral ghouls, super mutants, and the trappers Captain Avery mentioned. If I clear some of them tonight, and arrive back here in time to set out with you again in the morning, our group will make better time and run fewer risks tomorrow.”

"No," I said. "You're not going out there by yourself. What if you don’t come back? What if you get injured and dragged off into the swamp by one of those big flippery things? I know you’re a stone cold killer, X9, but I don't care how good you are, everybody needs somebody watching their back.”

“You know what, I’ll go with,” said Nick. “He’s right, Nora-- otherwise it’s a wasted night for those of us that don’t sleep. You and Hancock take a room, get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“That’s acceptable,” said X9-21. “With your permission, ma’am.”

I hesitated. Nick smiled at me. X9-21 gave me his version of puppy-dog eyes, which was to say that his face looked marginally less grim than usual, and he held particularly still, waiting.

“All right,” I said finally. “Fine. Be sure to find this islander guide guy, before you go, and get him to give you directions-- unless you want him to go with you tonight, too. Safety in numbers. Do you think he'll charge? Do you have any caps? I need to give you some caps, don't I. For emergencies."

"That won't be necessary," said X9-21. "I'm sure the guide's verbal directions will suffice. You worry too much, ma'am."

I smiled at him. "I'm a mother, X9-21. There's nothing you can do to talk me out of worrying. Your only recourse is to come back safely to me."

………………………………………………………………..

That being the case, I didn't really expect to sleep, that night, and at first I didn't. I lay there on the narrow bed, Hancock wrapped around me, his head pillowed on my chest, breathing slowly and regularly, and thought about Shaun, in Diamond City-- I hoped Piper was taking good care of him, telling him stories and rubbing his back until he fell asleep. About Emily, at the Nakanos'-- I hoped the throes of her first best-friendship and romance all at once were treating her gently. About Max, my newest, least-known child, settling in at the Castle-- I hoped he was making friends, and that the Institute scientists weren't bossing him around. And then about X9-21, out on the road with Nick right now, fighting who-knows-what, killing things for me, as he'd clearly been yearning to do for awhile now. I couldn't regret bringing him along, even if he'd been recognized as a courser a lot sooner and more unexpectedly than I'd hoped. I thought about Brooks, too, maybe out there making the midnight run to Acadia, to warn them that a courser was on his way, with a strange woman, a second-generation synth dressed like Sam Spade, and a feral ghoul dressed like a Founding Father.

And, just like that, my thoughts were back in the bed with me, with Hancock. Having him cuddled up to me had always been comfortable and comforting, but there was something about being married, a kind of restfulness I’d forgotten about, or assumed was gone forever with my old life. I didn’t have to wonder, any more, if he’d wake up tomorrow and decide he’d been traveling with me long enough, that it was time to head for pastures new. He still might, of course—it wasn’t like I could sue him for breach of contract—but I was surer than I’d ever been before that he wouldn’t. He’d promised, and I trusted him.

Maybe that's why, in the end, I did fall asleep. I didn't even dream of horrible gleaming flippery things on fire, or of any of the dead, accusing faces that routinely haunted my nightmares, or of searching frantically for one of my children, hearing the lost voice crying out for me in pain and terror, and not being able to find where it was coming from. 

I dreamed, instead, of Shaun-- not my little synth boy, but the grown-up, Institute-director version, Father-Shaun, with his wrinkles and grey hair and lab coat. I dreamed of him standing on the roof of the CIT ruins, looking out over the Commonwealth. As he'd done once in real life, while I watched him, sick at heart, and knew he was lost to me.

"He's right, you know," said Shaun, in my dream. "You do look like me. Or, I suppose, I look like you."

"I'm so sorry," I said, in the dream, to the strange, hard-hearted old man my baby had become while I slept on ice. "Shaun--"

He smiled ruefully, and reached out to take my hand in his. I saw that my knuckles were bruised and bloody, the way they had been when I'd first stumbled out of the cryo-pod, from beating them against the glass while my husband died and my son was carried away in the arms of a stranger. There had been bloody smears on the glass, between me and the slumped, dead body of Nate, when I woke; for a moment, I thought I saw them again, between me and Father-Shaun.

Then, in the dream, Shaun lifted my battered hand to his lips and kissed it.

"You aren't sorry, mother," he said, and I woke up with tears on my cheeks, grey light already showing through the cracks in the wall.


	2. I will sit like a bird on a fence, sing you songs with a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, "Cannibal's Hymn"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lifrd-gagcA))

When Hancock woke and saw my tears, he took me in his arms, without speaking, and kissed them away with his ragged lips. He didn’t ask why I was crying, and I didn’t volunteer anything. It didn’t really matter; it wasn’t like there was a dearth of possibilities, or like there was anything he could do to fix most of them, except hold me. He did, silently, until I said, “It’s already light out. We should get going.”

“Mm,” he said, and swung his legs out of the bed, already sliding a hand into his chem pouch. “Mentat?”

“No thanks,” I said. “X9-21 says chems just compensate for lack of training.”

“Not Mentats,” said Hancock. “They compensate for lack of braining.”

“Take one quick before you make another joke like that.” I knelt down and reached under the bed for my boots. “Do you think they’re back yet? Do you think they’re alive?”

They were back, and alive; when Hancock and I came out into the almost-deserted bar, yawning and shouldering our packs, we saw X9-21 and Nick at separate tables, both bloody and grim-jawed, and not looking at each other. 

“Hey,” I said, and they both looked up. X9-21 stood; Nick stayed sitting, yellow eyes slightly narrowed.

“The mission was reasonably successful, ma’am,” said X9. “We eliminated nine hostile humans, three four-legged mammals of a type I’ve never encountered—similar to dogs, but not dogs—and two amphibians.”

“Wow, that’s great,” I said. “Well done.”

“Oh, he can fight, all right,” said Nick. “No question about that. Keeping a civil tongue in his head, now that’s another matter.”

X9 shot Nick a look that, if looks could kill, would have meant adding _one prototype synth_ to his body count. 

“What did you say to him?” I asked X9.

X9-21 pressed his lips together, and said nothing.

“Oh, you don’t want to tell her?” Nick sounded angrier than I’d heard him since we killed Eddie Winter. “All of a sudden you’re a little nervous what Nora Bowman might think of what you had to say to me last night? Worried it might make you sound like an arrogant Institute _thug_ that thinks it’s a shame I ever crawled off their trash heap?”

“I said no such thing,” said X9-21, looking at me.

“What _did_ you say?”

X9-21 didn’t answer.

“Well, if you won’t tell her, I will,” said Nick. “Called me _unit_ , first of all, and when I asked him, nicely, not to goddamn well do that-- said he could either call me Nick or Mister Valentine, his choice-- says, cool as a cucumber, ‘You are entitled to neither of those names.”

“That’s a fucked-up thing to say, X9,” I said, but mildly, because he was stiller than I’d ever seen him.

He didn't answer. I opened my mouth, and then closed it again.

“OK,” I said finally. “We’re burning daylight, here. So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to split up into pairs. That's how I'm used to traveling, anyway, and I think it makes things less confusing in a fight, if you only have to watch one other person's back. We can switch off every so often, which two take the front and scout ahead, and which ones bring up the rear. When we get within half a mile or so of Acadia, we’ll stop, Hancock and X9 can make camp, and Nick and I will move on ahead and make first contact with Acadia. But for right now, X9 and I will take the front position. You two give us a half-hour or so head start, we can clear hostiles for you, and when we need rest, we’ll stop and wait for you two to catch up, and switch off. You won’t have any trouble tracking us, will you, detective?”

Nick’s eyes moved thoughtfully, with a faint whir, from me to X9, whose stillness was approaching statue-level, and then back to me. 

“All right,” he said finally. 

“With me, X9-21,” I said, and X9 moved to my side without speaking. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t take it too personal,” said Hancock to Nick, as I pushed the door to the Last Plank open and X9 followed me out. “He won’t talk to _me_ at all.”

…………………………………………………………...

 

X9-21 and I walked in silence for awhile, down the path, past the piles of scattered corpses he and Nick had made the night before. The trappers, insofar as Nick and X9-21 had left them remotely recognizable, mostly looked like more warmly-dressed raiders. I wondered what Avery had meant by _driven mad by the Fog._

“Those are wolves,” I said, as we passed some dead wolves. “The dog-but-not-dog things. FYI.” 

X9-21 didn’t answer.

“Oh, are you not speaking to me?”

“I didn’t realize you’d asked me a question, ma’am,” he said.

“X9-21,” I said. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re not dumb, and I know you know I paired us off just now so we could talk about what you said to Nick last night. So?”

"I realize you aren’t accustomed to imposing discipline, ma'am," he said, "and if you need suggestions, I can offer them. For example, I’m capable of functioning at peak efficiency on far less food and water than you usually allocate to me, and, for limited periods of time, without food altogether.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, coming to a halt and staring at him. He stopped, too, but didn’t look at me. “Is that something the Institute used to do? For _discipline?_ ”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said matter-of-factly. “In this case, it would serve the dual purpose of punishment for my infraction, and of conserving our limited food and water supplies.”

“X9-21, don’t be crazy,” I said. “I’m not going to _starve_ you. My God.”

“Most other forms of discipline with which I’m familiar, unfortunately, would compromise the quality of service I’m able to offer you,” he said, “which, as I’m the only one of my kind currently at your disposal, would be a serious inconvenience. The ultimate disciplinary measure used by the Institute for its coursers is, of course, unavailable to you, since it’s already been imposed on me.”

When Shaun or Emily was upset or uncertain, I thought, when they needed reassurance-- and whether or not X9-21 actually believed I was capable of inflicting the kind of punishments he was talking about on him, he wouldn't have brought them up if he didn't need reassurance-- I could pull them close, rub their backs, call them _sweetheart, baby, darling_. But I couldn't do that with X9-21. It wasn't the kind of language he spoke. It wouldn't feel like solid ground under his feet, like the kind of thing he could trust.

 _Sweetheart, baby, darling_ \-- no.

“Son,” I said. “Let’s keep moving while we talk about this.”

He fell silently into step with me as I started walking again. 

“To be clear,” I said. “I’m not looking for a way to punish you for what you said to Nick. I’m trying to understand why you said it."

“Respectfully, ma’am,” said X9-21, “since you ask-- it was a simple statement of fact. By your own account, Nick Valentine was a prewar human, not a second-generation synth with prototype modifications that allow for the overlay of memories copied from a human mind. Nick Valentine is dead.”

“So is Shaun Bowman,” I said, “but I’ve never heard you tell your little brother he wasn’t entitled to his name.”

He was silent for awhile after that, long enough for me to worry I’d said the absolute wrong thing, before he said, “There are significant differences between the two cases. But I do-- take your point, ma’am. Saying such a thing to Shaun would be-- cruel. He has no other name. No other-- identity.”

“Neither does Nick,” I said. “And it’s the hardest thing in his life, having this identity that the Institute-- forced on him, and then threw him out. And I know you don’t know him all that well, and maybe you didn’t know _how_ mean it was, but I’m still pretty sure you didn’t just say it in the interests of unbiased scientific accuracy. So what made you want to-- attack him? Is this something I’m going to have to be worrying about this whole trip, along with the giant frogs and the whole Acadia business? That you secretly hate Nick?”

“It was not my intention to cause you worry, ma’am,” he said. 

“What _was_ your intention?”

He didn’t answer, and we walked in silence for a bit. I figured he was thinking about it. He was right that I was woefully unaccustomed to imposing discipline, but I remembered when I was a child, my dad snapping at me: _I want you to go to your room and think about what you’ve done._ It never really worked with me-- I went to my room and thought about how horribly misunderstood and ill-used and innocent I was, instead-- but it might actually be something X9-21 was able to do.

He was quiet long enough that I was trying to decide whether I needed to break the silence myself, when we came in sight of an abandoned shack, its door hanging open, and X9 came to a halt and held up his hand, as if for silence, although neither of us had been speaking in the first place. 

I stopped with him, listening.

“I don’t hear anything,” I said, just before a feral ghoul did its lurch-sprint-shamble-snarl out from behind the building and straight at me. I drew my knife, but before I could connect, the top of its head burst off, spraying me with blood and brains. As it tumbled in a rag-doll heap, X9 fired again, three times, dropping two more as they emerged from behind and inside the building, and then the rest were on us.

I didn’t take the time to pull my gun. A hard slice to the throat, which they didn’t have the sense to guard, and their withered tendons and muscles gave way; hitting the jugular was messy, but it did the trick. After the first couple I killed, though, I’d no sooner turn to face one with my knife than it would drop, sizzling, smelling like intestine and ozone, and I turned to X9 in time to see him drive the stock of his laser rifle into one-two-three hairless skulls, the muffled shatter of bone into brain spaced as precisely as a drumbeat, and then lift his gun and point it at me.

“Get down!” he barked, and I dove to the ground; his gun flashed twice, and a dead feral fell hard next to me, one ragged-nailed hand outflung inches from my face.

Then there didn’t seem to be anything else moving around me except X9, stepping towards me, spattered in blood and other gory bits, and then kneeling down next to me.

“Are you injured, ma’am?” he asked. 

“No,” I managed, breathlessly, as I pulled myself up by my hands into a sitting position. “You?”

He shook his head. 

“I apologize for speaking to you so abruptly just now,” he said. “I meant no disrespect.”

“No, in the middle of a fight for our lives, I’m definitely in favor of leaving out the ‘ma’am’s and the ‘might I request’s,” I said, wiping bloody mess from my face with my sleeve. “Holy _shit_ , though, X9. I see what you mean about me not needing chems with you watching my back.”

His face—freckled with blood, too—changed expression, although I couldn’t have exactly told you how. Compared with Shaun, whose expressions were as exaggerated and unabashed as most ten-year-olds’, and Emily, whose fair skin went pink and pale as unmistakably as the weather shifted, X9’s face was an expert-level read. His eyes were wider than usual, maybe that was it.

“My performance was-- satisfactory,” he said, not quite in the tone of a question.

I laughed, a little giddily. “Satisfactory? My God-- you know I’ve never actually seen you in action before? Except yesterday, from the barricade, and I wasn’t really watching you then, I was too distracted by the-- I mean, that was nuts. You’re like some psycho death ballerina.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said.

I laughed again. “It means-- never mind. It means you’re magnificent.”

“Thank you,” he said, and his voice was more unsteady than I’d ever heard it, including the occasion when I’d just pulled my gun out of his mouth after Emily had successfully negotiated with me for his life. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank _you_ ,” I said. “I’m going to get fat and lazy with you to protect me. Come on, let’s get moving. Use those triceps of steel and haul your old mom up out of the nice pile of dead body parts you made for her.”

“Wait,” he said. “I mean-- may I-- speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course,” I said quickly, settling back down. I would really have liked to move out of the area we’d just littered with hideously deformed and now-dismembered-and-cooling corpses, but I didn’t dare insist, in case it disrupted whatever impulse had prompted him to restart the conversation. 

He lowered his eyes to the ground between us, and said, “May I ask you to instruct me-- how to refer to-- your-- to our traveling companion.”

It took me a second to figure that out, and even when I thought I had-- “Do you mean Nick?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Please, tell me what to call him.”

“I don’t care whether you-- oh,” I said, a lightbulb going on somewhere in my head. “Wait. I get it. Because-- well, sure, you don’t want to call him Nick. That’s too-- friendly. I mean, you _never_ use first names, do you, except for your brother and sister, and that’s only because Shaun doesn’t have a numeric designation, and I repeatedly threatened to shoot you in the face if you didn’t start calling your sister Emily.”

His mouth twitched, just a little. “As you say, ma’am.”

“And you wouldn’t want to call him Mr. Valentine either,” I said. “Because it sounds-- Mr. and Ms. are titles you give humans, right? To show respect. And you’re not comfortable speaking to a synth the way you would a human. Giving him that kind of-- default respect. Is that right?”

He nodded, without raising his eyes.

“So you didn’t know what to do, and you don’t much like getting yelled at by synths anyway, and you got snip-snappy,” I said. “OK. I get the picture. How about-- what if you called him just Valentine? Without the mister?”

“As you wish, ma’am,” he said.

“I think that would be fine,” I said. “That’s why you don’t ever actually speak to Hancock, too, huh. Or say his name to me-- it’s always _he_ or-- well, now you can say _your husband_. But you can’t quite bring yourself to call a ghoul Mr., right, and you don’t know what else to call him. What if you called him just Hancock, though? I know it might feel like a first name, since it’s what I call him, but-- Emily does, have you noticed that? Leaves off the mister, now. And that doesn’t sound-- disrespectful.”

“I am not Emily,” said X9-21.

I quirked one eyebrow at him, which was a waste of one of my talents, since his eyes were still on the ground. “Yeah. I can almost always tell you two apart, these days. The hair’s a dead giveaway.”

“I’m aware that she has-- instincts-- that I lack,” he said without looking up. “I’m aware you value her-- emotional skill set, so to speak. Her-- qualities-- that, if I ever had them, were considered undesirable for a courser, and eradicated, as much as possible, during training. But I’ve tried to place-- myself-- entirely at your service, ma’am. I offered-- I _requested_ \-- to join you on this trip, in hopes that the skills I _do_ have would-- serve you well.”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh, X9-21. Look at me.”

He raised his dark eyes to my face, his own face impassive again. 

“This might be hard for you to hear,” I said. “But you’re a tough guy, so you’re going to have to suck it up, all right?”

He nodded. 

“OK,” I said. “I love how intense you always, always are about doing what you think is right, and I love your willingness to think hard about things and change your mind sometimes, if you’re sure it’s right to make a change. I love how you always pick the exact right word out of the unabridged dictionary they obviously programmed into your head, because you care about accuracy and truth. I love you for your loyalty, I love how there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect the people you care about, like the doctors from the Institute, and Naveena, and Shaun and Emily, and me. I love how brave you are-- even when it meant you tried to single-handedly take my fortress and kidnap my daughter, and especially when it meant you finally took a chance on me, and brought your scientists to me to take care of, and saved Tanvi’s life, and Naveena’s. I love that you stood between me and Naveena the night she was born, to make Tanvi feel safer, and I love how you’ve been sticking close by them ever since, to protect them, and I also love that you felt OK leaving them to come with me on this trip, because you knew they’d be safe with the Minutemen, and you wanted to protect _me_. And yes, I love you for your fight moves, because they’re magical, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of them, but that’s the last and least in a big long line of reasons you don’t ever need to worry about competing with Emily’s emotional skill set. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with yours. Is that perfectly clear, son, or am I going to have to torture you with even more mushy emotional stuff about how much I adore you and why?”

“It’s clear,” he said, a slight rasp in his voice. 

“Good,” I said. “Now-- next question. Will you apologize to Nick? For telling him he wasn’t entitled to his name?”

“I would, _of course_ , have apologized to him at any time you ordered me to do so,” said X9-21, sounding very faintly offended.

“Yeah, well, I’m still not ordering you to,” I said. “I’m asking you to.”

“I’m perfectly capable of obeying orders, ma’am,” he said, “but I’m afraid my training doesn’t extend to accommodating reasonable requests.”

I peered at him. “X9-21-- are you _joking_?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll apologize.”

“OK, good,” I said. “I mean, it would be nice if you two could be friends, but if it’s not in the cards-- but I’d hate to think we can’t at least put our differences aside long enough to complete the mission. Also, that was actually a pretty good joke. Was it your first?” 

“I’m not sure what technically qualifies as a joke, ma’am,” he said. “Here are Hancock and Valentine.”

He stood, in a quick, easy motion, and held out his hands to me, to pull me to my feet. It was a second longer before I spotted them. 

“Tired already?” called Hancock. “Call that clearing hostiles for us? One measly gang of ferals-- hey, that blood’s not yours, is it?”

“Not a drop of it,” I said. “I just stood here like a pretty, pretty princess while X9 rained holy hell down on everything that moved.”

“You defended yourself perfectly adequately, ma’am,” said X9-21.

I groaned. “You guys hear that? That’s the death knell of my reputation as a badass. ‘You defended yourself perfectly adequately’-- dear God, the shame of it all. Anyway-- X9?”

“Valentine,” said X9-21. “I apologize for telling you that you weren’t entitled to your name. I spoke inaccurately, without due consideration of the facts of the matter, or of the full implications of my statement, and I was wrong to do so.”

Nick looked at me, then back at X9, and said, “Well. All right, then. Apology accepted.”

“Good,” I said. “So let’s see—if Nick and X9 were our forward guard last night, and X9 and I were just now, and Nick and I are going to take the lead heading in to Acadia, who gets the next forward stretch? Hancock, obviously, since he hasn’t done jack yet—“

“Hey,” said Hancock. “Might I draw our fearless leader’s attention to the fact that she hasn’t _given_ me jack to do.”

“I’ll continue ahead with Hancock,” said X9-21. “If you have no objection, Hancock.”

Hancock looked at me, blinking with surprise, and I kissed him.

“Catch up with you in a bit,” I said. “Take care of my baby for me.”

X9 choked, and coughed.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said, when I looked at him. “The climate here is damper than I’m accustomed to.” 

…………………………………………………………………………

"Hey," I said to Nick, as Hancock and X9-21 disappeared up ahead, "so I kind of steamrolled over discussion, earlier. I should've asked-- you all right with you and me being the ones to actually walk into Acadia? I figure--"

"I agree," he said. "What do you think we'll find?"

I shrugged. "No idea. Don't really want to speculate. Trying not to picture-- you know. Pickman's gallery, but all the bodies are my kids.'"

"You got a morbid imagination there, Miss Nora," he said. 

"You think I'm being driven mad by the Fog already?"

"No madder than you were already driven by the Commonwealth," said Nick. "So if trappers are driven mad by the Fog, what do you think raiders are driven mad by? The T?"

I giggled. "The Jet, more like."

"Speaking of," said Nick, "Hancock says you're off chems."

"X9-21 doesn't approve."

"He doesn't approve of _me_ , either," said Nick. 

"He did apologize."

"Yes, and it was graciously spoken," said Nick. "Didn't sound scripted. I mean, it did, but if you’d scripted it, it would’ve actually sounded less scripted, if you see what I mean.”

“You mean, if I’d told him what to say, he would’ve said ‘Hey, Valentine, what I said to you was super mean and uncalled-for, and I’m really sorry.’”

“Exactly,” said Nick. “So I conclude that little speech he gave actually flowed straight from his formal, precise little heart.”

“I think it did,” I said. “We had a good talk. There’s some-- thought patterns-- that he’s kind of slowly getting around to re-examining. I hope you’re OK traveling with him, Nick. I didn’t really think about how that might-- cause conflict. You and him. Him being-- you know. Ex-Institute.”

“‘S’all right,” said Nick. “He did get me riled-- but Hancock and I were talking, just now, and he said, you know, he’s not the Institute. He’s just another one they didn’t do right by. I'll try to remember that. Not like I don’t know what it’s like, to be somebody the Institute made me, and try to-- figure out what to do, next. How to be.”

"Thank you, Nick," I said. "You're a prince among men, you know that? And synths. And ghouls. And me. You're a prince among-- just everybody."

“Why, Ms. Bowman,” he said. “If only I had swooning circuits. Let me know when you want to move out.”


	3. I've flown a long way honey, oh hear my confession, then I'll go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Josh Ritter, "Snow is Gone"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJZiojEGuy0))

As Nick and I approached Acadia, cautiously, guns in hands, I saw a junk fence, a few outbuildings, and, standing in the doorway of the junk fence with a modified Institute rifle--

\--a _courser?_

Well-- I mentally amended, as we got closer-- a woman in a worn, ragged courser uniform. I never wore a courser uniform myself, but I had five at home, because I could so rarely bring myself to leave good, warm, serviceable, armored clothing just lying around in the rain for molerats to make nests out of, no matter how inappropriate it would feel for me to actually wear it, or give it to anyone I liked to wear. And up here, good, warm, serviceable clothing was probably at a premium. A caravaner from the Commonwealth could have picked one up, an Institute scientist could have sold it off, and it could have made its way up here, where nobody would necessarily have even known what it represented. Just because somebody was wearing one of their uniforms didn’t make her a courser.

Of course, it also didn’t make her _not_ a courser. I’d never personally seen a female courser, but I knew they were at least a possibility, because Emily had mistaken me for one when I’d first found her. If she _was_ a courser-- what if what we’d found up here was another “remnant,” like the one X9-21 had been with, sweet-talking synths into making the trip north and then reclaiming them for the cause? What if Acadia was another attempt at rebuilding the Institute?

Also, I noted, the woman was pointing her rifle at us.

“That’s close enough,” she said, loudly but calmly. 

I stopped. Nick stopped, too, beside me.

“Put your weapons on the ground,” she said. She was pretty, in a severe kind of way-- large-eyed, dark-haired, and tall-- and she wasn’t even thinking about smiling. “Slowly.”

“Nope,” I said. “Sorry. Not going to happen.”

She clicked the safety off her gun.

“Still nope,” I said. “I’m not going to be the first to shoot, but I don’t know you well enough to put my weapon down while you’re pointing one at me, so if you’re going to shoot me if I don’t, then we’re about to get in a gunfight.”

Adrenaline was zinging through me-- she had the drop on me, she’d definitely get at least one clean, clear shot off before I could get my gun up, and if she really _was_ a courser-- well, after seeing X9-21 take out that mob of feral ghouls on the way here, I wasn’t at all confident that one shot wouldn’t go straight through one of the armorless parts of my body, like my neck. 

I stared her down, though. I didn’t think she wanted to kill me. If she did, she’d have done it already. Probably, if she did shoot me, it would be non-lethally, like maybe in the kneecap. I didn’t _want_ to get shot in the kneecap, but I could face that prospect easier than I could the prospect of surrendering my weapons and submitting to whatever happened next. And if she did manage to incapacitate both me and Nick, and we didn’t come back to camp within an hour or so, Hancock and X9 would be along, and then we’d see who had the drop on whom.

She didn’t shoot.

“You,” she said, looking at Nick. “DiMA would like to speak with you. If you will put your weapon on the ground, you may proceed inside.”

“Who’s DiMA?” I asked.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” said the courser. I was almost sure now that she was one, or had been; I recognized that cool non-expression, and the impersonal arrogance that I associated with every courser I’d ever met, the sense that whatever course of action they were currently pursuing was right, proper, and ordained by the omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent Institute. Or, nowadays, by whatever they’d transferred their loyalty to, instead. Me, in X9’s case. Presumably, in hers, whoever had talked to Kasumi on the radio. Maybe DiMA, whoever that was.

With a faint whirring of servos, Nick began to crouch.

“Nick--”

“Don’t worry so much, doll,” said Nick, placing his gun gently on the ground, and then straightening back up. “Permission to enter, ma’am?”

She gestured, slightly, with her gun, and Nick walked forward, without either hurrying or hesitating, past her, across a narrow, grassy courtyard, up some concrete stairs, and through a blue door, which slammed solidly behind him. 

Great. I’d come up here to rescue whatever synths Acadia had claimed, and instead I’d just watched their door swallow another one. What the fuck was Nick thinking? Had curiosity just killed the synth detective? What did "DiMA" want with him? The same thing he wanted with all the other synths, presumably, and I still had no idea what that was.

The courser had kept her eyes, and her gun, on me, as Nick passed. I kind of itched to charge her, to go in guns blazing, but I made myself stay still. There was no point escalating the situation at this juncture, especially with Nick inside, a potential hostage.

We stood there in silence for awhile, watching each other. She looked thin, maybe even a little gaunt. I wondered whether someone had been starving her, the way the Institute apparently starved its coursers as a point of discipline, or whether there just wasn't all that much to eat up here. Her ragged uniform, in addition to some routine-looking patches, had some kind of decoration or insignia sewn onto each shoulder-- on her right, a series of three orange bars of varying lengths, and on her left, what looked like a chain with dog tags on it, or maybe a lock. I didn’t know _what_ to make of that, but I didn’t ask, either. I could stand here staring at her until doomsday, or until Nick came back out unharmed, or until I heard screams from in there, at which point all bets were going to be off.

It was she who finally broke the silence.

“Who are you?” she asked, without apparent emotion.

“My name is Nora Bowman,” I said. 

“What relation are you to Shaun Bowman?”

_Oh._

“His mother,” I said. 

She looked at me levelly, with that courser look, the _you have given me insufficient cause to alter the configuration of my facial muscles_ look. 

“You know where the Institute got him when he was a baby, right?” I said. “The cryo-vault? Did you know they left his mother on ice, in case they needed a backup source of DNA, to make-- you guys?”

She blinked slowly at me, but didn’t otherwise respond.

“Well, they did,” I said. “And I didn’t come out of stasis until three years ago, so I’m biologically thirty years younger than my son was when he died. So. That’s who I am. Who are you?”

“Chase,” she said.

“ _Chase_?”

“Yes.”

I digested that for a moment in silence. On the one hand, it seemed like a positive sign that she’d offered a name, not a designation; on the other, naming a courser “Chase” seemed like a really weird person’s idea of a joke. 

“Did you pick that yourself?” I asked finally.

“Yes,” she said. “When I broke with the Institute, and joined DiMA here, he advised me to choose a name that represented a primary aspect of my personal identity.” 

Then, watching me closely, she suddenly narrowed her eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

“No reason,” I said, trying to straighten my face. “Hey, do you remember a courser designated X9-21?”

“Yes,” she said, still squinting suspiciously at me.

“He’s having trouble with the idea of picking a name,” I said. “That’s why I’m still calling him X9-21. Maybe you could help him come up with one.”

“X9-21 is hardly likely to take my advice,” she said. “I’m a runaway, after all.”

“You’re a _courser runaway?_ ”

“Yes,” she said.

“How does that happen, exactly?” I asked. “I mean-- why did you break with the Institute? How did you end up here? And how come you’re still wearing your uniform? X9 won’t wear one anymore.”

“Why have you relaxed your guard?” Chase asked. “I’m still pointing a gun at you.”

I really had almost lost sight of that fact, but her reminder just made me realize something else. I bent, slowly, and laid down my gun on the ground, then straightened back up and showed her my empty hands. 

“You left the Institute, and you named yourself _Chase,_ ” I said, my grin breaking out again. “I love it. I love it so goddamn much. Listen, what’s going on up here? Tell me everything.”

She raised her eyebrows, ever so slightly.

“All right,” she said. 

……………………………………………………………………….

Her account was measured, precise, and unemotional, but as she spoke, I found tears coming to my eyes. I couldn’t even believe it-- it was like the dreams I had sometimes where Shaun’s death, or Nate’s, or the bombs themselves, had turned out to have been a mistake, a misunderstanding, and everything was really all right. It was impossible, foolish of me to believe for a second that things could be as all right as she was telling me they were-- but I couldn’t believe she was lying, either. 

_Wished to provide a refuge for runaway synths. Far enough away from the Institute. I came here in pursuit of a runaway, and was convinced. Safety. Freedom. To retain our memories. To choose our names._

And, again and again, _DiMA_ \-- she said the name as if it were self-explanatory. When she seemed to have finished, I said, “But who’s DiMA? Is he human? Or is he one of you?”

“Neither,” she said. “He’s a second-generation prototype. Similar to your companion.”

“A prototype-- like Nick?” I was dizzy; I wished for an arm to lean on: Nick’s, Hancock’s, X9-21’s. “I-- Chase-- can I go in? Can I meet him? I'll leave my weapon here.”

“By your own admission, you’re traveling with a courser,” said Chase. “X9-21 may have given you recall codes for some or all of our residents. Until we can determine your intentions with greater certainty, DiMA’s orders are not to let you in.”

“Oh,” I said. "OK. So Brooks did warn you guys I was coming? And that I was traveling with X9?”

She said nothing.

"No, forget I asked,” I said. “Obviously you’re not going to-- but wait, what if I had _your_ reset code?”

“X9-21 would not have access to my reset code,” said Chase.

“But Shaun would,” I said. “Father. Didn’t Brooks tell you what X9-21 told him, about how I’d inherited the Institute? I could've gotten your code from Father, or from Dr. Ayo-- I mean, obviously I didn't, but you can't ever be too careful, Chase. When you get a chance, tell DiMA--”

I stopped talking abruptly as the blue door opened again, and Nick came down the stairs, side by side with--

I’d never seen Nick without his trademark trench coat and fedora, the trappings of his inherited identity: Nick Valentine, detective. Seeing DiMA was an immediate shock, and more of a shock, in more ways, the more I looked and the closer he came. He didn’t look like one of the interchangeable, shiny second-gen synths in the Institute, the way I’d always sort of figured Nick would, if he didn’t have the coat and hat. DiMA looked-- broken, jury-rigged, ragged and patched. I was used to the places where Nick’s rubber skin had been worn or torn away, but there were parts of DiMA that felt wrong to even look at, things embedded in his skin like chemo needles or shrapnel, exposed wires and workings like injuries that he hadn’t bothered to bandage. His eyes didn’t glow yellow like Nick’s, either; they were grey, like his skin, and lightless, and made him look blind. 

He looked at me, and then at Nick, who said something in an undertone, and then the two of them came the rest of the way up to Chase, who said, “Sir--”

“It’s all right, Chase,” he said, in a voice that was softer than I expected-- quiet, and gentle too, carefully modulated, as if he were speaking to an animal he didn’t want to spook. His tone didn’t change at all when he added, turning to me, “Ms. Bowman. My brother has been telling me about you.”

His _brother?_ I looked at Nick, whose face betrayed nothing. 

“He tells me you’ve been in contact with Kasumi Nakano,” DiMA said. “I’m glad to hear she’s safe-- I was concerned when she stopped talking to me, and never arrived here. I’m sorry to have worried her unnecessarily. And you, too, I gather. Nick says you thought I might have had some-- nefarious purpose, in inviting her here? Please, allow me to reassure you--”

“Chase told me,” I said. “What you-- what this place-- is.”

I was staring too hard, it was rude, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

“Ah,” he said. “Well. I apologize for the-- lack of welcome. Ordinarily we do welcome strangers, but under the circumstances, it seemed wisest to be cautious.”

“Yes,” I said. “I, um, I do have a question. A really important question.”

“Of course,” he said. “I imagine you have many questions for me. I’ll do my best to answer them, if I can do so without endangering any of my people.”

“Just one for right now,” I said. “If I’m careful about all these, um, bits-- is there any way I could give you a giant hug?”


	4. shake your head in wonder, baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Shawn Colvin, "Whole New You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIqGirKaWT8))

Acadia was a long way from paradise. The place was bleak, grey, grimy, cluttered, and the synths looked tense, although some of that could have been because of the stranger they’d been warned about, wandering around with a look of stupid heart-pounding happiness despite the armed courser escort, asking them their names. 

_Faraday_ , who’d been keeping DiMA running, installing upgrades and external drives. _Cog. Cole. Dejen. Aster,_ for the flowers she collected-- I promised to bring her some. _Naveen_ \-- I thought of little Naveena, back at the Castle with her mother. Tanvi had probably given orders to some of these synths in her time. _Miranda_ (oh, brave new world!) and _Jule_ , who--

“Sweetheart,” I said, “that’s not right, a constant headache like that. Do you have a doctor here who could try to figure out what’s wrong?”

“Um,” she said, looking at me suspiciously, the way you would at a total stranger who barged into your home and started calling you _sweetheart_ and giving you medical advice. “Doctors can’t help with stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what?”

“None of your goddamn business, is what,” she said. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” I said, and moved on. I was making mental lists. A supply line, obviously-- it would have to be based out of the Nakano homestead, they’d have to agree to long-term use of their boat, and I guessed Far Harbor would have to be on board, so to speak. I’d talk to Captain Avery, figure out some mutually agreeable terms-- she seemed reasonable enough. A better water pump, a more varied crop, weapons and traps for hunting, better defenses than one ex-courser with a laser rifle-- and I was going to have to figure out how to either get Dr. Amari here, or get Jule to Goodneighbor. I didn’t think either was going to be easy, but Amari was the only neurosurgeon I knew, and definitely the only one who understood how synth brains worked. Unless-- what about Alice Hastings? She’d worked in Advanced Systems, with Madison Li-- what might she know about what could go wrong with synth neural wiring?

I tripped over a wooden box and almost fell over, and Chase said, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just lost in thought. Oh, _shit!_ Shit, shit, shit! I have to go!”

“What?” said Chase.

“Nick!” I yelled as I sprinted past him and DiMA, deep in conversation. “Why didn’t you remind me?”

“What?” he said, and then, “Oh, for the love of-- _run!_ ”

…………………………………………………………….

X9 and Hancock were locked and loaded and grim-faced, moving fast, and I was out of breath with running, when I spotted them; my first attempt at calling out came out in a gasp. X9 froze; Hancock broke into a run, towards me, and caught me in his arms.

“It’s OK!” I yelled, too loudly this time. “It’s OK, it’s OK, listen, it’s fine--”

“Where’s Nick?” Hancock asked, holding me at arm’s length now, peering into my flushed, sweaty, maniacally grinning face. X9 had caught up, now, and wrapped a firm hand around my upper arm, as if to keep me from escaping.

“He’s fine,” I said, still breathless. “He’s back at the-- at Acadia. This guy who looks-- like him-- oh my God, it’s such a crazy story-- but it’s real, it’s really a refuge, they’re safe. And there’s another courser there, X9, she says she remembers you--”

“ _She?_ ” said both Hancock and X9-21 simultaneously.

“Yes. I didn’t get a designation, but-- there aren’t many female coursers, right? Would you know who I’m talking about, X9? Tall, with dark hair, big eyes, skinny--”

X9-21 stared at me, his lips slightly parted, which from X9-21 was the equivalent of screaming “WHAT?”

“You know who I’m talking about?” I asked again. 

“We were told she was dead,” said X9-21, after a moment’s pause. “That she’d been killed pursuing a synth who’d left the Commonwealth. She was posthumously stripped of her rank, for allowing the runaway to get so far. She’s-- _here?_ ”

“She ran away,” I said. “Or stayed away-- she came up here chasing the runaway and found the refuge, and they talked her into staying. She was defending the place. She damn near shot me, defending it. But then--”

The whole story spilled out, and they listened, wide-eyed as the kids of Vault 81 when I told tales of the Commonwealth.

“And then I realized how long I’d been gone and that you guys were about to come vaporize the whole compound,” I finished. “I’m so sorry I made you worry. Guys! Can you even believe this?”

“Wait,” said Hancock. “Go back to the part about how this thing claims to be Nick’s brother.”

“He’s not a _thing_ ,” I said. “Honestly, Hancock. He says he and Nick knew each other in the Institute. They were part of the same-- experiment, I guess. And they were close.”

“But Nick doesn’t remember?”

“He doesn’t remember _anything_ about what happened to him in the Institute,” I pointed out. “You know that. And now-- finding out there was someone he knew there-- someone who cared about him-- who still cares-- who can help him fill in the missing pieces--”

“I’m just saying,” said Hancock. “Shit that seems too good to be true-- usually is.”

“Says the man I just married,” I said. “Right after he gave me a big speech about how I’m always so suspicious about places I’m not in charge of. I’d think you’d see this as personal growth.”

“Point,” said Hancock. “Just-- stay sharp, Nora. Too many stars in your eyes and you quit seeing what’s right in front of your face.”

“I see it,” I said. “And yeah, there’s room for improvement. But good things do happen. Right?”

“Sometimes,” Hancock conceded. “So where to now?”

I peered at him. “Um. Back to Acadia, of course.” 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. “Judging by the way Emily screamed when she first saw me, I ain’t sure walking into their refuge with this mug on is the friendliest gesture I could make.”

“They’ll adjust,” I said. “They’re all used to DiMA, and he’s crazier-looking than you are. The only thing is, you’re both going to have to give up your weapons at the door. And I agreed to have Chase walk around with me, in case I suddenly started initializing factory resets, so probably the same will go for you.”

“To have _who_ walk around with you?” said Hancock.

“The courser,” I said. “The woman. That’s what she calls herself now. Chase.”

“ _Chase?_ ” said Hancock.

“Yeah, isn’t that adorable?” I said. “See, X9, you could come up with a name that would mean _you_. Chase did.”

X9-21 looked up at me, blinking as if he’d just emerged from a dream, and I realized how quiet he’d been for the last several minutes, since confirming he knew the courser I was talking about, and that he’d thought she was dead.

“How do you feel about seeing her again?” I asked him, and he said, “I would like to, ma’am.”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s get going.”

……………………………………………………………………………………

 

Chase was in the doorway again when we came back, leaning against the frame as if exhausted by all the shenanigans around her. She straightened up, though, when she saw us, and her eyes fastened on X9.

“Put your weapons down,” she said, and Hancock and X9 both complied. When X9 straightened and met her gaze, she said, “Hello, X9-21.” 

“Hello,” he said. “Chase.”

Her eyebrows twitched, and she said, “I didn’t expect you to call me that.”

“Dr. Ayo told us you had been destroyed,” said X9-21. “Beyond the possibility of repair.”

“I suppose, from the Institute’s point of view, I had been,” she said. “So that’s why no one ever came after me.”

X9-21 stepped forward, slowly and deliberately, and Chase raised her gun, pointing it directly at him. I sucked in my breath, but X9 didn’t react to her gesture; he stepped forward again.

“I’ve never been under orders either to harm or to apprehend you,” he said. “Do you think it’s my personal wish to do so?”

She didn’t answer, but she lowered her gun slightly.

X9-21 moved forward, towards her, until he was so close that the muzzle of her gun actually touched his chest. Then he reached out, touched the barrel, and moved it carefully aside. He took one more step towards her, and wrapped his arms around her.

“What are you doing,” she said flatly, her gun pressed sideways between them. 

“Hugging you,” he said, and held her for a few more moments before he released her and stepped back. 

Chase looked at him, then at me and Hancock, and then over her shoulder at the compound, as if hoping someone would appear there and tell her what to do next, and then back at X9-21, who said, “I’ve recently come to appreciate the use of hugs to demonstrate, among other things, pleasure in seeing someone again after an extended separation.”

“I didn’t think you would be-- pleased,” said Chase. She wasn’t smiling, exactly, but she wasn’t frowning nearly as much as she had been. “You’re aware now that I rebelled outright against the Institute. And you were always so adamant, that we had no right to question our orders, or the Institute’s actions--”

“At a certain point in time,” said X9-21, “it became impossible for me to avoid certain questions altogether. I think that point must have arrived sooner for you than it did for me.” He turned, suddenly, to me. “Ma’am, I apologize for delaying you-- I’m sure you’d like to proceed inside.”

“Oh-- right,” I said-- I’d almost forgotten that I was staring inappropriately at this point. “Sure. You want to stay out here and catch up with Chase?”

“With your permission, ma’am,” said X9-21.

“Of course,” I said. “Come on, Hancock.”

As Hancock and I walked towards the stairs, I heard X9, behind me, say, “Do you remember Unit Y4-15?”

“Yes,” said Chase. “Her situation was-- one factor, in my decision to stay here.”

“I thought it might have been,” said X9-21, and then I couldn’t hear any more.

…………………………………………….

DiMA or Nick or somebody must given the synths a heads up on Hancock, because although a lot of them goggled openly, none of them screamed or fainted or fled.

“I’m sorry I charged out of here like that,” I said to DiMA, who was still standing with Nick on a kind of raised dais thing in the middle of the building’s first big room. “Chase is outside catching up with X9-- are you OK with me walking around in here without her watching me? If not--”

“It’s all right,” said DiMA. “If you _are_ here with any kind of ill intent, you’re the greatest actress known to man. Or synth.”

“Nora’d rather bite off all her own fingers and toes than harm any of your people,” said Hancock. 

“I think that is literally true,” I said. “Although that would be a really weird choice to have to make. DiMA, listen, do you have a sec? I want to talk to you about-- some things I could maybe help with around here. See, I’ve got some resources, back in the Commonwealth. I’ve got this organization, that I’m the leader of-- we call ourselves the Minutemen--”

He nodded, smiling, and listened as I talked about provisioners and food and water and building supplies, but when I mentioned defenses, he started to shake his head.

“What?” I asked, interrupting myself. “Why not? You guys are-- DiMA, don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking amazing what you’ve accomplished here, but you guys need to be safer than this.”

“I don’t disagree,” said DiMA. “We are vulnerable here, and the peace between us and Far Harbor-- and the Children of Atom, who have a considerable presence here-- is-- well, precarious.”

“Then--”

“But,” he interrupted, “if we begin arming ourselves in the way you describe, my fear is that we’ll simply escalate the situation. Rather than a settlement of harmless beings who wish only to live in peace, Acadia will be seen as a threat, a force to be reckoned with-- and someone may choose to reckon with us, sooner rather than later.”

“No offense, DiMA,” I said, “and, again, please don’t think I’m not incredibly impressed that you’ve managed to keep Acadia safe and intact this long, or that I don’t completely adore you for making it all happen, but saying ‘if we scrunch down small enough and hold still enough, maybe nobody will attack us’ is not a strategy. It’s a wish.”

“A heartfelt one,” said DiMA, with a sad smile. 

“Yeah, well, if wishes were horses,” I said. “I mean, brahmins. Whatever. It’s not enough.”

“I agree,” said DiMA. “But I don’t agree that the solution is to arm ourselves more heavily. At least, not until we’ve managed to defuse the existing tensions on this island, between the Children, Far Harbor, and ourselves. And I’m afraid even I don’t have a full understanding of the situation. You see--”

The technology he described then-- memories offloaded to external drives and hidden away somewhere secret-- sounded pretty tempting, actually. I wondered if Dr. Amari could figure out how to scoop out a few of my own. Probably not. Probably she’d just have me relive my husband’s death and my baby’s kidnapping a fourth time, and then tell me she was sorry, again. 

“OK,” I said when he was done. “So your memories are hidden with the Children of Atom? Fine. Point me at ‘em.”

“I couldn’t ask you to take that risk for our sakes,” said DiMA, either missing or kindly ignoring my pun. 

“Yeah, and you didn’t,” I said. “I offered. And you’ll be taking me up on that offer, because if you don’t I’m going to keep bugging you until you either tell me where the Children are holed up or murder me out of annoyance, and if you do murder me then my courser son’s going to want to murder _you_ , and then your courser friend’s going to have to try to murder _him_ , just when they were making friends again, and it’s all going to be super sad. So just give me the coordinates now, and let me head over there and pick up your memories, and this all will have been avoided.”

“It may not be that simple,” said DiMA, who-- fortunately-- seemed to find me charmingly headstrong and stubborn, instead of appallingly so. I usually got one of those two reactions, and the latter one usually didn’t end that well. “In order to gain the Children’s trust enough to enter their stronghold, you may have to actually join their ranks, or at least convincingly display solidarity with their cause.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’ll just be really reasonable and logical, and then they’re sure to listen to me.”

“I’m afraid they may not--”

“She’s kidding,” said Nick. “Assuming the Children don’t have a finely calibrated sarcasm detector-- and if they’re anything like the ones we got in the Commonwealth, they don’t-- we’re gonna be fine.”

Hancock grunted. “If we’re lucky, we can talk her into eating and sleeping first.”

“Of course we’re going to eat and sleep first,” I said. “Here, if DiMA’s cool with it. Can X9-21 come inside? He won’t reset anybody, I swear.”

……………………………………………..

When I went back outside to get X9-21, he and Chase were sitting on the ground, close together, talking so intently they didn’t look up until I was halfway across the courtyard towards them. Considering X9’s usual reflexes, that meant pretty damn intently.

“Ma’am,” said X9, rising quickly. He didn’t offer Chase a hand to help her up, and she didn’t seem to require one; she rose with the same lithe ease as he did. “Do you need something?”

“Just to see if you want to come in,” I said. “We’re going to eat, and then rest up for another thing we’re going to do in the morning-- I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

“Will my presence frighten the runaways?” X9-21 asked.

“They know you’re here,” said Chase. “If they see you with me, they won’t be frightened. They trust me, now.” She did smile then, for the first time that I’d seen, very slightly, at X9-21. “As your sister trusts you.”

“Which sister?” X9-21 asked.

“Emily,” said Chase, and then, “Oh. Yes. And me. Come inside, X9-21.”


	5. I spy with my third eye, something volatile and vital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Tanya Donelly, "The Night You Saved My Life"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_ztD7xTRfY))

“You’re like a little kid,” said Hancock, watching me almost bouncing on my toes as we headed out in the gray morning light. X9-21 and Nick had already left for Far Harbor with Aster, who’d volunteered unexpectedly for the trip.

“I’m always scared to walk too far by myself,” she said, “but I’d love to get a chance to collect some plant specimens-- and with someone along to protect me--” She broke off. “I mean-- that wouldn’t be the-- the primary objective of the trip, of course. But if-- if I could--”

“I have no objection to allowing you to collect plant specimens as a secondary objective, Aster,” said X9-21. “And I’ll see that no harm comes to you.”

“Thank you, X9-21,” she said gravely. 

“Thank you for your trust, Aster,” X9 answered, with equal gravity. “Your assistance will enable us to reassure Brooks more effectively than if Valentine and I approached him alone.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling, as I barely repressed a squeal of pride-- so fucking brave, so cool, so sweet, my _girl_ \-- 

“I just found out a dozen more of my kids are alive and safe than I knew about,” I said now to Hancock. “And they’ve all got _names_ , and they know who they _are_ \--”

“I know,” said Hancock, smiling, “and I’m happy for you, but remember what I said yesterday about too many stars in your eyes? Especially when we’re approaching enemy territory?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” I said. “It’s just the Children of Atom.”

“They sound a tad bit better organized up here than in the Commonwealth,” said Hancock. “I’d just as soon you kept your wits about you, Nor.”

“My wits are _all_ about me,” I said, and tried to refrain from hopping any more.

…………………………………………………………………………..

 

The first thing I saw as we approached the Nucleus was someone getting shot. That didn’t entirely surprise me-- the Children _were_ violent lunatics-- but it did put a slight damper on my spirits. I rallied quickly, though. If I’d let myself get depressed every time somebody died in front of me, I would have been dead myself for years by now.

“Greetings, faithful servant of Atom,” I said to the crazy bearded face-tattooed guy-- the one the now-dead guy had addressed as _Richter_ , and whom the killer had addressed as _Grand Zealot_ (God, the Children were even grosser than the Brotherhood)-- whose eyes were darting rapidly between me and Hancock. “How are you today? Bathed in the light of his holy glow, I hope.”

“Who are you?” Richter asked. “You must not be from around here, if you’re traveling with one of the Forsaken. Atom has driven them all mad up here.”

“Is that what happened?” I asked. “I was wondering. We’re from the Commonwealth.”

“Quite the journey,” he said. “So. Explain to me what you’re doing here.”

“Atom sent us,” I said. “He vouchsafed to me a holy vision, of your sanctum. He bade me come hither, with my companion here, who’s been touched by his glory, and he told me I would meet a man with a beard and a face tattoo, just like you. He said that if we greeted you in his name, you would welcome us and take us to your leader.”

Hancock said nothing. We’d agreed beforehand to let me do the talking when possible. Part of Hancock’s appeal-- for me, anyway-- was his sincerity; he could be eloquent, especially under the influence, but he wasn’t a bullshitter. Me, on the other hand-- I didn’t spin bullshit as a hobby or a compulsion, the way Deacon did, but when the occasion arose, I could enjoy getting into character as much as the next lady. After all, I’d once landed the plum role of “Studious Girl” in a high school drama club production of Rodgers’ & Hammerstein’s _Cinderella_. 

Richter was scowling at me. “Do you mock our faith?”

“Of course not,” I said, thinking _dammit_. Maybe the Children up here _were_ better with sarcasm than the ones in the Commonwealth. “Don’t _you_ get vouchsafed holy visions by Atom?” I gave him as pitying a look as I could muster. “Don’t be discouraged, brother-- if you pray and remain faithful to his word, Atom will surely bless you someday with a glimpse of his glory.”

“If you are truly of the faithful,” he said, stony-faced, “you will submit to be tested by Atom.”

“Maybe _I’m_ the test,” I suggested hopefully. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to submit to be tested by _me.”_

“First you will pass our test,” he said. “There is a small spring not far from here. Those chosen by Atom drink and are granted something. A token. An experience. Those not chosen-- rarely return.”

“Great,” I said. “Where’s the spring? I haven’t had a holy vision since the one about you, and it’s starting to bum me out. Usually I get them every day. Sometimes twice a day.”

“Can I, uh, talk to you for a second, sister?” said Hancock.

“Sure,” I said. “‘Scuse us, brother.”

We stepped off to the side, Richter eyeing us quizzically.

“Have you lost your mind?” Hancock asked me quietly.

“Nope,” I whispered back. “It’s our best bet. I’ll do their weird initiation and I’ll fake some kind of vision and we’ll be in.”

“Did you hear the part about what happens if you’re not chosen?”

“I’m not gonna die from drinking irradiated water,” I said softly. “I might puke, but I’m not gonna die. If I pass out, try injecting me with some of that serum Jack Cabot gave me. It’s in my meds pouch.”

“We couldn’t just kill them all, and then find the terminal with the memories?” 

“This is nothing,” I whispered. “You should’ve seen what I let Tinker Tom inject me with when I first joined the Railroad. Sorry, brother,” I added, louder, stepping back towards Richter. “My friend was just suffering from lack of faith. You know how those Forsaken get. But I’ve calmed his fears and we’re ready to go to the spring.” 

……………………………………………………………………………….

“Now’s when we come up with a good fake vision, head back to their place, and pretend you drank, right?” said Hancock, as my Pip-Boy went clickety-click-click-click-click-click.

“Oh, you of little faith,” I said, took a deep breath, stuck my face into the spring, and swallowed a mouthful of water. 

Just after everything went blurry and glowy and weird, and just before I started fumbling for the pouch at my belt, a misty lady popped up out of the fog and said to follow her. 

So I did. 

I was vaguely aware of Hancock behind me, saying something, and then saying something louder, and then saying nothing, just keeping pace. I was also vaguely aware that something insane was happening, but I didn’t really mind. The misty lady, despite having her back to me and no face anyway, managed to convey both friendliness and urgency; she liked me a lot, and she wanted to show me something, something that I really, really needed to see. To have. She needed me to have something. 

I followed her for a long way. There were animals-- some of the frog things, some radstags, some other things-- but nothing attacked me. There was earth, then water, then earth again under my feet. Then she stopped and pointed.

“Bring them peace,” she said softly, and I saw the peaceless bodies.

When they were all at rest, I entered where she’d guided me. There was a terminal-- not the one I’d been looking for, not the one with the memories, but the one she’d brought me here to find. I knew the password: it was my name. The gate opened to me, and I passed through it, and took what she’d been waiting so long for me to come here and claim. Holding it, at last, I lost my footing, and fell. 

Someone caught me, cursing softly, and cradled me against his body, and held something to my lips, something fresh and cool that pulled at me, sharpening the world again.

I drank until the bottle was empty-- it was a Refreshing Beverage, which seemed like a waste, but I couldn’t deny it felt good to have it inside me-- and then said, coughing a little, “I’m OK.”

“Thank God,” said Hancock. “Take it _easy_ , Nora, don’t try to stand up yet--”

I became aware that I wasn’t, in fact, standing up; I was sprawled, mostly in Hancock’s lap, his arm around me, supporting my head. There was ceiling above us, and a door hanging open to the outside, and, on the ground past the door, dead ferals-- sliced-up ones as well as charred and bullet-ridden ones. I looked at my hands for my knife, but I wasn’t holding it; instead, I was clutching a small, crudely carved statue of a robed woman.

I looked up at Hancock, a question on my lips, but before I asked, I knew the answer: he hadn’t seen her. She had only been there for me.

“You’re not going to believe this,” I said, and cleared my throat, “but I just got vouchsafed a holy vision.”

Hancock touched my hair, brushing it back from my forehead. “Hope it was a good one.”

“It was _great_ ,” I said, smiling beatifically up at him. “It wasn’t of Atom, though. Do you think I should go back to the spring and try again?”

“Ha ha,” said Hancock. “Scare the piss out of me and then giggle about it, why don’t you.”

“Sorry.” I coughed again. “I’m sorry. But-- hey-- vision. A real one. And I got a-- a token, I guess. Is that what this is? A token?”

“Either that or a tchotchke,” said Hancock. “How the hell did you hack that terminal so fast?”

“I didn’t hack it,” I said, remembering. “I knew the password.”

“How?” he asked. “What was it? You put it in too quick for me to even see.”

_My name._

“Mother,” I said.

…………………………………………………….

 

“Here,” I said to Richter, after Hancock had made me sit still and eat some vegetable soup and pop another dose of Rad-X, and after I’d finally convinced him I was OK to make my still-slightly-wobbly way back to the Nucleus, the little statue held tightly in my fist. “I saw a woman. She led me to a place-- she gave me this.”

“You saw the Mother of the Fog?” he said, eyes wide, and reached out to touch the icon, but I clutched it protectively to me.

“She gave it to _me_ ,” I said.

“I understand that,” he said, “but may I see it?”

I held it up, and he looked at it for a moment.

“Atom above,” he said. “You really did see her.”

“Who is she?” I asked. 

“She is a messenger from Atom,” said Richter. “Acts as a guide for those important to his plans, and the future of this family. She’s the one who led the first of us to this place-- and if she’s revealed herself to you-- well, I’d say the path he’s lain for you is clear. If you’re prepared to take the next step, then I believe there is a place for you among Atom’s children.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I believe so too.”

“Head inside and present the icon to the High Confessor, once his sermon is done,” said Richter, and I said, “By present, you mean show, right? Because I’m not giving it to anybody.”

“You show yourself willful already,” said Richter, frowning. “You will need to become more tractable if you’re to find your place among us.”

“Fuck that,” I said. “The Mother brought me here. You said that’s a clear sign of my path. If you don’t let me in, you’re the one who’s not tractable to Atom’s will.”

“We are all devoted servants to Atom here,” he said. “Messenger or no, actions against the family will not be tolerated.”

“Got it,” I said. “Can I go in now?”

“Welcome, sister,” he said, and handed me a robe.

 

……………………………………………………………..

It turned out the Nucleus was a lot like the Institute, in that it was horrible, and I hated it. Not _them_. I didn’t hate any of _them_. I just hated _it_. The radiation everywhere, the sickly yellow glow of everything, the muttered prayers. I was homesick. For the Castle; for Acadia; for Shaun and Emily and X9, Cog and Cole and Dejen and Aster and Miranda. 

_The family._ _Sister_. _Mother in the Fog._ I was going to have to think about this.

On my way towards the High Confessor’s quarters, my mind elsewhere, I almost screamed with shock when something scrabbled and clutched at the hand I held the Mother’s icon in. I turned to see a man on his knees, his cheeks hollow, dark circles under his eyes, a sickly pallor to his skin, who let go of my hand as soon as I met his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I-- thought you were-- Sorry.”

I reached out, without really thinking, the icon still in my hand, and touched the backs of my fingers to his forehead. He was burning up. I knelt down next to him, took off my pack, tucked the icon inside for safekeeping, and took out another Refreshing Beverage, the second of the three I’d brought to the island.

“Drink this,” I said, holding it out to him.

He shook his head. “I-- I can’t, sister. I’ve vowed-- nothing but water touched by Atom shall, shall pass my lips, until his messenger comes to me, to tell me I am redeemed.”

“It's all right,” I said, and reached out to touch his fevered face, cupping his jaw with my palm. “I’m here now. Drink.”

“You?” he whispered. “You-- were sent here-- for me?”

“Yes,” I said, firmly, and maybe even truthfully. _She_ \-- whoever she was-- had come to me, had given me something so I’d know she wasn’t just a fevered hallucination, and had gotten me in here. And if she knew me well enough to come to me, she knew what I’d do when he touched my hand. 

His hand trembled so much when he reached out for the bottle that I knew he’d spill it everywhere if I handed it to him. I shifted to a sitting position beside him, put my hand on his back, and held the bottle to his lips, the way I’d done once for Emily, a long time ago. He whimpered and closed his eyes as he drank, and coughed once, but he finished the bottle, and then drew in a long, shuddering breath. 

“Praise be to Atom for his mercy,” he said, wide eyes fixed on me. “What would he have me do now?”

“Be well,” I said, touching his forehead again; it had already cooled. Refreshing Beverage worked fast. “Take care of yourself.”

“Hey, holy one,” said Hancock, holding out a hand to me, “not to interrupt, but we’ve got other business here.”

“He’s right,” I said to the man, who looked ready to cry. “I have to go now. But don’t be afraid. The Mother loves you. She’s watching over you.” I leaned in-- he wasn’t mine, but he was hers-- and kissed him on the forehead. “Be at peace.”

“This is easily the weirdest situation you’ve ever gotten me into,” said Hancock, after he’d pulled me up, and we’d walked on, out of his earshot.

“Only because you weren’t there for the Parsons State Insane Asylum adventure.”

“I was with you when we tracked green blood into a cave and found a wounded alien living inside.”

“And this is weirder than that?”

“You didn’t declare yourself the alien’s holy messenger.”

“He needed a holy messenger,” I said. “That irradiated guy, I mean. Not the alien. Come on, let’s meet the Lord High Dickhead and see what we can do about accessing those memories.”


	6. and that puts it in a language that I think I understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Matthew Sweet, "Back to You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn0SSwOJgKo))

I poked around for a little bit longer before heading for the submarine hatch that apparently housed the High Confessor. I’d already heard enough of his “sermon” (something about wiping Far Harbor from the face of the earth, something else about an “accursed robot,” which had to be DiMA) to gather that our conversation wasn’t going to be a cakewalk, and I didn’t think there was any harm in putting it off long enough to meet some of the nicer people in my new cult. I hit it off in particular with a pleasant young woman named Sister Mai, who, like everybody else here, had a depressing story about how she’d ended up in a cult, but also had some interesting information about how radiation affected the Children-- or, rather, how radiation affected some people, most of whom presumably ended up with the Children. 

“But some of you _are_ sick, though,” I said. “There was this one guy over there-- praying--”

“Yes, I saw you speak with Brother Devin,” she said, eyes bright with interest. “Did you persuade him to end his fast?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good,” she said, then looked around, self-consciously, and giggled a little. “I mean-- of course it’s good to fast and pray, and seek redemption, but--”

“But the radiation was making him sick.”

“Yes,” she said. “There are those among us who seek Atom’s will, even though they haven’t been granted his blessing. It’s very admirable. What about you, sister?”

“Yeah, I don’t have his blessing, either,” I said. “I’ve got Rad-X and RadAway, instead.”

“And your companion,” she said, still wide-eyed. “One of the Forsaken. Transformed by Atom’s touch. I’ve never seen one before. One who wasn’t-- driven mad, I mean.”

“Look your fill, sister,” said Hancock, with his most charming grin, and I elbowed him.

She asked me to do some work for her-- some parts for the decon arch I’d noticed on the way in, which she’d modified to spray as many rads as possible everywhere.

“Isn’t that kind of mean to the ones of us who don’t have Atom’s gift?” I asked. “Don’t the rest of you get enough, around here?”

“Well-- I suppose,” she said, frowning, as if she’d never thought of that. “Perhaps I can modify the settings-- make it possible for it to do both? Certainly those unfortunates who don’t have the blessing shouldn’t be penalized for seeking refuge here with the true believers. In either case, though, I’ll need those parts. If you could--”

“Sure,” I said, just as someone grabbed my arm and I jumped. I turned to see a man with face tattoos-- everybody here had face tattoos, in concentric circles of various configurations-- staring at me.

“Um, hi,” I said, as Sister Mai said cheerfully, “Hello, Zealot Ware.”

“What did you say to Brother Devin?” he asked me.

“Not much,” I said cautiously. “I gave him a drink.”

“But how did you persuade him to accept it?” Zealot Ware asked. “I’ve been begging him to drink or eat something besides irradiated water for--” He turned, suddenly self-conscious, to Sister Mai. “I mean-- I admired his faith for the trial, of course--”

“I’m glad it’s over, too, Zealot,” she said quietly, and he relaxed a bit, turning back to me. 

“He says you told him you were Atom’s messenger, and that you’d been sent to him to tell him his trial was ended,” he said.

I nodded. “Well. Yeah. I mean, not _Atom’s_ messenger, per se-- I got a vision from the Mother of the Fog? She sent me here to bring peace. And Brother Devin needed peace, for sure. And a drink.”

“What did you give him?” Ware asked. “He’s-- fine, now. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I pulled my last Refreshing Beverage out of my pack, where it nestled next to the icon, and showed it to Ware.

“I make it myself,” I said. “At home.”

“Zealot Ware also makes a medicine for scouring,” said Mai brightly. “You two should swap recipes.” 

“I can tell you how to make this, if you want,” I agreed, and gave him a list of ingredients and equipment.

“That’s a bit-- complex-- for our humble accommodations here,” he said wryly, and gave me the recipe for his, which was a lot simpler, although it called for ingredients I’d never heard of. I said so, and he said, “They’re fairly common here.”

“Can I try some of yours?” I asked, and held out the Refreshing Beverage. “I’ll trade you.”

“I couldn’t accept this, sister,” he said. “Mine is nowhere near as-- potent.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I can make more. You keep this for a rainy day. Or a-- Foggy day.”

He didn’t laugh, but he smiled at me, with a kind of puzzled happiness, and said, “Well. Thank you, sister. I-- yes, here is some of my brew. You can have as much as you like-- I make it often.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling back, accepting the little brown bottle. I had a sudden inspiration. “May the Mother’s peace be upon you. And upon Brother Devin. And you, too, sister,” I said to Mai. “I’m going to go talk to the High Confessor now.”

It might have been my imagination, but I was pretty sure both their smiles, bright when I'd wished them peace, dimmed at that last part. I took note as I turned away.

………………………………………………………...

 

Just outside the hatch into the submarine, I met Richter.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “Have a job for you.”

“Can it wait?”

He frowned. “I suppose.”

“Good,” I said. “Come with me. Introduce me to the big guy.”

“What?”

“Come with,” I said again. “You’re the Grand Zealot, right? That’s some kind of high-type rank around here? And you’re clearly not dumb. I need to discuss the ramifications of my holy vision with your High Confessor, and I’d like to have you sit in. Come on. It’ll be interesting, I promise.”

“The _ramifications_ of your vision?” Richter repeated.

“Yep.”

He was still frowning, but he did follow me and Hancock inside.

The High Confessor Tektus greeted us.

“The new convert,” he said. “And her Forsaken companion.”

“That’s us, brother.”

“High Confessor,” he corrected firmly.

“OK, High Confessor,” I said. “I thought we were family now, but if we’re going to stick to the formalities, then you’re going to need to address me as General.”

“General?”

“Of the Commonwealth Minutemen,” I said. “Official motto: don’t fuck with us, and we won’t fuck you up. And your newest member, at your service, which makes this your lucky day.”

“You presume greatly, sister,” he said coldly. “Especially for a newcomer to our sanctum.”

“I don’t have time to fuck around, brother,” I said. “I already had a pretty extensive to-do list before the Mother of the Fog came to me in a vision, vouchsafed me a token, and bestowed upon me a sacred charge.”

Tektus looked at Richter.

“She did have a vision of the Mother, and was led somewhere whence she retrieved one of the Mother’s holy icons,” said Richter. “The part about the sacred charge is new to me.”

“She told me to bring peace to her children,” I said. “So. What’s up? Why aren’t you at peace, and what can I do to help? There’s problems with Far Harbor, I gather?”

“Far Harbor itself is a problem,” said Tektus, and then started talking about blasphemy, and fog condensers, and then about missionaries being murdered, which-- 

“Just to be clear,” I said, “the missionaries, they come in peace? They don’t attack people or forcibly irradiate them or destroy the fog condensers or anything like that?”

“Of course not,” said Tektus, sounding offended, like he would whether he was lying or not. 

“Then how come the Far Harbor people kill them?”

“Because they are vicious infidels,” said Tektus.

I frowned. “No, really.”

“They blame the Children for the Fog,” said Richter. 

“Ah, well, yes,” said Tektus, who was clearly offended by my skepticism, but not enough to make a scene. Yet. “The sign of Atom’s favor that blankets this island, that makes it such a fitting haven for his blessed chosen, they nonsensically believe we are somehow _generating_ , instead of merely basking in its glow.”

“Gotcha,” I said. “Correlation-causation error. And, again to be clear, what is your problem with them using fog condensers?”

“And defiling the physical manifestation of Atom’s glory?”

“Yeah, because they aren’t blessed by Atom and it’s not good for them,” I said. “How is that a problem for you guys? It’s not like they’re taking the Fog away from _you_.”

“This island is _ours,”_ said Tektus, reminding me unpleasantly of a super mutant for a second. “We were _led_ here.”

“Right, by the Mother,” I said. “But in my vision, she pretty clearly said ‘bring them peace,’ not ‘help them destroy their neighbors.’ Don’t get me wrong, brethren-- it’s fucked up that Far Harbor kills your missionaries. The good news is, I’m here to help. I’ve already got some business to attend to with Far Harbor, and when I return there, I’ll speak to the people there, make it clear the Children desire peace and mutual goodwill, and discuss the terms on which we can establish that. Sound good?”

“The people of Far Harbor will not listen to reason,” said Richter.

“Bet you a Nuka Cola they will,” I said. “I’ll be back here after I speak with them, and let you know what they had to say. But first, there’s a terminal around here I need access to. It’s got some memories on it that a friend of mine needs back.”

“You were sent by the robot?” Tektus demanded, his face flushing red suddenly.

“I was sent here to protect you and bring you peace,” I said, very patiently. “But while I’m here, yes, I need to run an errand for DiMA. Which, by the way, what is your problem with him?”

“He is an abomination in Atom’s sight,” said Tektus.

“No he’s not,” I said. “That’s just dumb. What does a synth have to do with Atom? Why would Atom care?”

“Your insolence is insupportable,” said Tektus, redder than ever. “How dare you speak to me so? What is to prevent us from making a public example of you and your companion, returning you to Atom for judgment here and now?”

I felt Hancock move slightly beside me, but I didn’t turn to look at him.

“What’s to prevent you? Nothing,” I said lightly. “I mean, other than the fact that we’ll fight back, but you could probably overpower us-- if not you two personally, then the rest of your people, eventually. The question then would be, what’s to prevent the friends who know we came here peacefully, when they find out you murdered us, from mobilizing Far Harbor to come wipe you guys off the map? And that answer to that would be, also nothing. And then the further question would be, why in Atom’s holy name would you want that to happen, when the alternative is that I fulfill the Mother’s charge on me and do everything in my power to keep Atom’s children safe from harm, and ask nothing in return, except that you refrain from being murderous dickholes for a hot minute, and let me access a terminal for data that doesn’t even belong to you?”

Richter and Tektus exchanged a long glance. I waited. 

“High Confessor,” said Richter finally, “may I speak with you a moment, in private?”

They stepped into the next room of the little submarine, where I could hear the murmur of their voices, but not what they said.

“When you said you were gonna use reason and logic on the Children,” said Hancock softly, “I honestly thought you were joking.”

“I was,” I said, also softly. “But these guys aren’t like the ones in the Commonwealth. They’re-- sane. Relatively. Apart from, you know. The craziness.”

“Speaking of craziness,” said Hancock, “how much of all this about the Mother’s sacred charge is your unnecessarily elaborate bullshit?”

“Um,” I said. “None of it?”

“Nora.”

“What?”

He just looked at me. 

“I _did_ have a vision, Hancock,” I whispered. “If it wasn’t a real vision, then how would I have known where to find the Mother’s tchotchke? And she did tell me to bring peace. What’s wrong with that? I didn’t want to fight with these guys, anyway. I’ve already annihilated two gross organizations full of mostly-innocent people in my life. I’m not that interested in chalking up a third.”

“There’s a big fuckin’ difference between not annihilating them and _joining_ them.”

“Well, I’m not picking out a sleeping bag here or anything,” I said. “But if we can make it work out with them _and_ Far Harbor-- and I don’t see why we can’t. Hancock-- these are just _people_. They belong to a weird cult, but-- you’re the one who said most people are probably pretty decent when you get down to it. You’re the one who said-- remember, when I said decent people do shitty things because they’re confused, and you said ‘that’s why you tell the truth, and unconfuse ‘em’?”

“I have _got_ to start watching my mouth around you,” said Hancock, just as Tektus and Richter returned.

“I have decided,” said Tektus stiffly, “since you are new to our family and our ways, to overlook your insolence on this occasion. But be warned, our mercy is not infinite. It would be wise, on your part, to tread more lightly in the future.”

I smiled at him, then at Richter, who gave me a short, unsmiling nod.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I said. “Thanks for the mercy, brethren. Would you be so kind as to point us at the terminal?” 

“There are defenses around it that we don’t have the means to deactivate,” said Richter. “They were set in place by-- your friend.”

“We’ll deal with them,” I said. “Thanks again! May the Mother’s peace be upon you!” 

……………………………………………….

The defenses were relatively simple for Hancock and me to fight our way through-- Protectrons, Assaultrons, turrets, that kind of thing-- but DiMA’s memories were something else again, and Hancock couldn’t help me with the decryption; it was a one-person kind of job. He tried at first, but by the time I unlocked the fifth one, he’d actually fallen asleep, sitting on the floor, his back against a bank of consoles. 

I checked my Pip-Boy for the time-- it hadn’t literally taken all day, but the light would be fading, outside. I felt light-headed with hunger, but when I thought about actually eating, my stomach turned over. I rubbed my eyes, smarting from the light of the terminal; now that there was no more of the task at hand, the full weight of everything I’d just learned came crashing down on me.

Places to go. Secrets to find. Weapons. Defenses, options that DiMA hadn’t been able to bear having. And something buried in the old Vim! Pop factory, in the basement, something he hadn’t been able to bear having done.

I’d thought idly, when DiMA told me what he’d done with his memories, that I wouldn’t mind doing that with a few of my own. Now I thought, seriously, of what it would mean. What if I could carve cleanly from my head the dark-haired young Institute scientist who’d cried out “We _trusted_ you!” just before blood bloomed across the chest of her white jumper and she fell? The passionate scrawl of Liam Binet’s suicide note, wishing me a lightless life and a lonely death for what I’d done, as Desdemona spoke of Patriot’s heroism over his cold young body? Scribe Haylen’s sweet, gentle face, distorted with terror and betrayal, as Deacon gunned her down? The screams from the falling, burning _Prydwyn?_ My son-- the only child of my womb, the only one I’d carried and borne and nursed, and the only one I ever would, now-- lying in agony on his deathbed, in the final bitter knowledge that I’d utterly destroyed everything he’d ever cared about?

What if I could forget? 

And what if, later, I needed to remember, and sent a stranger to find those memories and bring them back to me?

I sat there, feeling sick at heart, tired beyond measure. I wanted to lie down on the floor, with my head in Hancock’s lap, and sleep, too. But I couldn’t. There was ugly truth to be uncovered, and given back to its owner, to be dealt with. Sweet DiMA, my children’s savior.

“Hancock,” I said, not loudly, but he woke with a start, his hand going instinctively to his gun. I did that too, sometimes, on waking. What if I could forget everything that made me do that? Could I resist the temptation? 

I didn’t know. I hoped so.

“Nora,” said Hancock, scrambling up to his knees, and put a hand on my thigh. “What-- what’s wrong? What is it? What did you see?”

“Nothing, yet,” I said, and tried to smile. “Not really. But there’s-- some places we need to go. Some things we need to see.” I swallowed back the raw thickening in my throat, just behind my tonsils, blinked back the heat that prickled my eyelids. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not now. I didn’t even know what I’d be crying about, not yet. “You’ll-- go with me, right?”

“Anywhere,” he said. “Anytime. You know.”

He stood, and helped pull me up, my legs cramping and burning from sitting still so long. I leaned against him, put my head down on his shoulder, just for a second.

“John,” I said. “What’s the worst thing you ever did? The thing you can barely stand to remember?”

“You know that, too,” he said, without surprise. “That night when Vic and his guys smashed up that poor bastard in the middle of the street. And before that, when my brother kicked the ghouls out of Diamond City. All my life, before I put these clothes on. Standing by, when shit went down, or running away. Doing nothing.”

“Doing nothing.” I choked on a tiny, hysterical laugh. “The worst thing you ever did was-- nothing.”

“Don’t laugh,” he said. “You think it’s easy to live with? What if you’d done nothing, instead of-- everything you’ve done?”

“It would be easier,” I said. “It would have to be.”

“Think again.” He put his arm around me, kissed me quickly on the lips. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get out of here.”


	7. they forgot what they lost, but they know it was good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Stars, "I Died So I Could Haunt You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcRJHG1hcj4))

On my way out, Richter waylaid me again.

“Are you ready to hear about that job now?”

“Uh, sure,” I said. “I guess. Yeah. What do you need?”

I listened wearily as he talked. 

“Are you shitting me, brother?” I asked when he was done. “You want me to go find a _heretic_ and bring her back for _execution?”_

“That surprises you?” he asked evenly.

“I guess nobody expects the Atomic Inquisition.” I rubbed my eyes again; they were still stinging from staring at the terminal for so long. “Look, Grand Zealot, what do you take me for, exactly?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” he said. “I think you could be a valuable member of our family. But your loyalty seems-- divided.”

“It’s not,” I said.

“Then perhaps it simply isn’t sufficient.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You got me. That’s my big problem. Insufficient loyalty. Look, I need to get out of here.”

As I tried to push past him, he slapped a big, firm hand around my forearm.

“Hey there, brother,” said Hancock, beside me. “You want to keep that hand?”

“It’s OK, Hancock,” I said, looking up into Richter’s cool blue eyes. 

“You’ve been warned once to tread lightly, sister,” said Richter. “You would be best advised not to test the bounds of our patience.”

“I bet I would, Grand Zealot,” I said, my eyes steady on his. “I bet most people tread lightly around you, don’t they? Especially here. You’re a big, tough guy. Ex-military, right? You’ve got that vibe. Brotherhood?”

“Enclave,” he said, not taking his hand off my arm.

“OK,” I said. “Either way. These people here, most of them, they aren’t soldiers. They’ve suffered, they’ve lost, and they’ve come here for-- refuge, and companionship, and to find some kind of meaning in what’s happened to them, and hear how they’re blessed and loved. And then one of them gets confused, and runs away, and you tell me you want me to chase after her, and bring her back here, to be _executed_.”

He watched me, his hand tightening slightly on my arm, but not to the point of pain.

“You know,” I said, smiling a little up at him, “back in my day, if a loving mother saw one of her children bullying another one, she would take him aside, and speak to him, to help him understand why what he was doing was wrong. She wouldn’t want to be harsh, not unless it was absolutely necessary in order to protect her weaker children, because a good mother loves _all_ her children, weak and strong alike. Grand Zealot Richter-- beloved child of the Mother-- please, be gentle with your brothers and sisters. They’re littler than you, and they need you to be kind, and patient, and help them learn and grow in their faith. Please don’t hurt them, or frighten them on purpose. Please don’t murder them, or order them to murder each other. I’m asking you in the name of the Mother of us all. Please.”

For a moment, nothing happened; then, slowly, without breaking eye contact, he took his hand from my arm.

“Thank you,” I said, and smiled at him again. “I’m sorry, but I really do need to go now. I’ll be back.”

“If you find Sister Gwyneth, and persuade her to return to us,” he said, “I will negotiate with the High Confessor to have her shown mercy. As I did for you.”

“You’ll ‘negotiate’?” I said. “As in, there’s a possibility she won’t be shown mercy?”

“If she returns to us, she will not be harmed,” said Richter. “You may hold me personally accountable for that.”

After a second, I nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

“Speak to Zealot Thiel, before you go,” he said. “She should be able to-- help you.”

…………………………………………………………….

I did speak to Zealot Thiel, before I went. I was still shaking with fatigue and uncertainty from what I’d learned about DiMA’s memories, but if the Mother wanted me to bring peace to her children-- well, Gwyneth, wandering the woods alone, scrawling crazy heretical messages all over the place, and in danger of murder by any overzealous Child who stumbled across her, seemed like a great place to start. If I did find her, of course, I wouldn’t allow her to come back alone; I’d escort her personally, maybe along with X9-21 as well as Hancock, in case Richter reneged on his promise and an execution seemed imminent. I’d been perfectly sincere in my appeal to Richter, but I had no way of knowing whether he’d really been listening, and I hadn’t been bluffing about protecting the Mother’s weaker children, either. 

Thiel seemed nice enough, and pretty impressed to hear that I’d received a vision from the Mother. I showed her the icon, and she reached out to touch it with one reverent finger, before giving me some leads on where to look for Gwyneth, and the fairly-interesting information that Gwyneth had once physically assaulted Tektus. I filed both away for later. Gwyneth had been on her own for awhile now; she could wait until I found out what I needed to know about what was buried in the basement of the old Vim! Pop factory. 

“Thanks, Zealot,” I said finally. 

“Of course, sister,” she said. “And by Atom’s grace, I hope you will succeed where I failed.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “She’ll be all right.”

Thiel frowned. “If you find her-- well, of course, ultimately, once she has suffered her earthly fate, she will meet Atom and be at peace.”

“I mean she’ll be all right here,” I said. “On earth. It’s not right to punish someone for falling into error, don’t you think, Zealot Thiel? It’s better to guide them gently back to the truth.”

She stared at me. “I-- such matters are for the High Confessor to decide, sister.”

“I think they’re for us all to decide,” I said. “Thanks again. The Mother’s peace be upon you.”

“You, too, sister,” she said, looking startled, but not displeased. 

……………………………………………………..

 

“OK,” I said, outside the Nucleus. “The coordinates for this factory--”

“--are not where we are headed right now,” Hancock interrupted. “We’re going back to Acadia, to rest. X9 and Nick will be back there by now, and Aster, and they’ll be glad to know you’re safe, and you can--”

“I can’t, Hancock,” I said. “I can’t go back there. Not until-- not until I see-- not until I know what’s in that basement. I can’t see him again until I know what-- what it is that--”

“Then we’ll head back to Far Harbor,” he said. “Or we’ll make camp, and I’ll keep watch while you sleep. I just got a good nap in, I can--” I was shaking my head, and he made a frustrated _ch_ noise. “Nora, you’re exhausted, you’re trembling, you can barely walk--”

“I have to,” I said. “I have to, John, I have to know what’s down there, I have to know the worst, please, you said you’d go with me, you said anywhere, anytime--”

“Shit,” he said. “Nora, you need to _rest_ \--”

“I can’t until I know,” I said. 

He gnawed what was left of his lower lip. “I-- all right. All right. We’ll go there. Come on. We’ll get in and out fast.”

I don’t know if it really went fast or not. I didn’t stop to examine anything on the way, to look for flowers, outside, or the sap Ware had told me he used in making his anti-rads brew, or, once we got to the factory, any old junk I could strip for parts that I could use in building. There were super mutants, and we killed them. Then we found the basement, and an unmarked grave, and, without speaking to each other, started to dig.

It was after we’d uncovered the grave, and the skeleton with the locket around its neck, with the holotape still in my Pip-Boy, that I started to cry. I crawled across the loose dirt of the grave into Hancock’s arms, and clung to him, and cried, not just sobbing but wailing, keening, almost screaming, like a baby who couldn’t understand why it had to hurt like this.

“He killed her,” I wept. “He killed them both. Captain Avery, the real one, and my _daughter_ \-- I never knew her, I could have known her--”

“She’s not dead,” he said, holding me hard. “We met her back at the Harbor.”

“That’s not _her!_ It’s her corpse, it’s her shell, she doesn’t know, he took her life, he took her face, he took her name, I don’t even know her _name_ \--”

“She chose it, though, Nora,” said Hancock, very gently. “She did it for the others, for her brothers and sisters, for everyone at Acadia. She sacrificed herself, so they could be safe.”

“He _hurt_ her--”

“She knew it was going to hurt,” said Hancock. “She knew what she was getting into. She was so brave, Nora. You should be proud.”

He was right, and I knew, even as I sobbed and dug my fingers into him, squeezing them into fists, my nails snagging in the threadbare cloth of his five-hundred-year-old coat, that I wasn’t only crying for the daughter who’d greeted me, kindly, with a murdered stranger’s face and voice and memories, when I arrived on this island. I was crying for her, yes, but also for H2-22, and G5-19, and Amelia Stockton, and Deacon’s dead young wife Barbara, murdered for something she couldn’t even remember. I was crying for every synth who’d ever lain down in a Memory Pod and had herself ripped away and someone else placed behind her eyes, for every son and daughter who hadn’t been able to bear the pain and fear of being who they really were. But the woman who’d become Captain Avery had done it-- Hancock was right-- not out of fear, but out of love, out of courage and determination to keep her family safe, and I cried longest for her, cried until my eyes were almost swollen shut and I was thirsty and limp against Hancock, trembling with the aftershocks of the earthquake of grief that had shaken me to the core. He held me, waiting it out, until I could sit up, and drink some water, and leave the basement, leaving the locket on the dead woman’s neck.

When we got back to Acadia, X9-21 was waiting in the doorway of the junk fence. He stayed still when he saw us, until we were close enough that he saw something in my face, or in my slumped, stumbling gait, and then he started towards us. I broke into a clumsy run, and when we caught up to each other, he lifted me up, wrapping his arms tightly around me, my arms around his neck and my feet leaving the ground.

“Ma’am,” he said in my ear. “Are you all right?”

“I will be,” I said, clinging to him. “X9-21-- I’m so fucking proud of you, I love you so fucking much--”

“I know,” he said, and when he added, “I love you, too, mother,” there was such a roaring in my ears, such a weakness all through my limbs, that it was all I could do to hang on, for dear life’s sake, to my living son.

……………………………………..

DiMA couldn’t cry, of course. He couldn’t go pale, either, or flush, or tremble, and he wouldn’t have nightmares-- not sleeping ones, anyway, since he didn’t sleep. 

In a private room, with the door closed, sitting across from each other on wooden crates (because I couldn’t stand, not through that holotape, and he wouldn’t stand while I sat, out of some idea of courtesy), I played him the holotape, and told him about the unmarked grave, and he buried his face in his hands, like anyone who had eyes and couldn’t bear, for a moment, for anyone to look into them. 

I couldn’t bring myself to touch him, to give him comfort in that way, but I said, forcing the words out, “You did what you thought was right. What you thought you had to do. And maybe it did save Acadia. I don’t know. I’m not-- I’m not the one to judge you.”

He took his hands from his face and looked up at me. His eyes weren’t matte grey, like his skin, as I’d at first thought; they didn’t glow, but there was light to them, a reflective quality, like the surface of still water. 

“I’ve grieved you deeply,” he said.

I nodded, the tightness in my throat making it impossible for me to speak aloud for a moment.

“What is the right thing for me to do now?” he asked me. “How can I atone?”

“You can’t,” I said. “Nobody can ever-- atone, I don’t think. I don’t think that’s how things work. You just-- do the next thing, whatever it is, and you try to make it better. You try to do what you wish you’d done last time, if you’d been-- strong enough, or good enough, or brave enough, or-- said the right things-- but you have to remember, this time, DiMA. Because if you don’t, you’ll just end up doing the same fucked-up things over and over again, not remembering why they’re-- wrong, or how it could have been-- how it could be-- better--”

“I don’t know that even now,” he said, his shoulders slumped in a strangely human gesture. “What should I have done? What can I do now? Use these other memories-- the launch codes, the kill switch-- to destroy the Children and the Harbor alike?”

“No,” I said. “We’re not going to do that.”

“Far Harbor is peaceful enough, now, I suppose, thanks to--” He gestured towards my Pip-Boy, with the holotape still in it. “But the Children-- I don’t want to resort to violence, I can hardly bear the thought, but--”

“We are not going to do that,” I said again. “We’re going to make peace. Real peace.” 

“How?”

“As best we can,” I said. “It’s just got to be better than last time, DiMA. That’s all. And the next time will be better than that. That’s how we live.”


	8. don't you think I want to run too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Tanya Donelly, "Salt"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqIoexTsrzg))

I woke thirsty, with what felt like a bad hangover, although I was sure I hadn’t been drinking. It was dark, wherever I was, except for a rectangular seam of light around what must be a closed door, and I fumbled for the flashlight switch on my Pip-Boy and shone it around, seeing a dirty mattress, shelves--

“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Nick from behind me, and I shrieked slightly before rolling over to see him sitting with his back against the wall, legs drawn up towards his chest, his eyes glowing in the dark. “Get you anything?”

“Water,” I said hoarsely, and he smiled slightly. 

“Figured,” he said, and handed me a milk bottle full of purified water, which I drained without taking a breath, then gasped and said, “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

I did, and the darkness behind my eyelids suddenly flared red; I opened them again, cautiously, and saw that he’d flicked a switch and illuminated the little storeroom where someone had put me to sleep. 

“How long have you been sitting there in the dark?” I asked him.

“Hour or so,” he said. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“Where’s Hancock?” 

“He woke up a couple hours ago, and went out,” said Nick. “Took X9-21 with him.”

“What?” I blinked. “Went out where? Took X9 where?”

“Something about searching holy sites for a heretic?” said Nick. “Sorry, I would’ve asked more questions, but I figured you two had already talked about it.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s nice, I guess. Yeah, it’s something the Children of Atom want me to do. Look for clues where this lady might have gone. Save me some time, if they can figure out more definitely where she might be.”

“So,” said Nick.

“So,” I agreed.

“Seems we go back a long way, him and me,” he said, and after a puzzled moment-- I was still thinking about Hancock and X9-- I realized who he meant. “I don’t remember a damn thing about it, you know. It’s not a good feeling. Like there’s parts of me just-- gone.”

I nodded.

Nick was quiet awhile, and then he said, “You gonna tell me what you found? What had you walking back in here yesterday looking like you’d been dragged through hell backwards, and you’d just as soon be back there as here?”

“I found-- a bunch of stuff,” I said. “You don’t have any more water, do you?”

“ _You_ probably do,” he said, and turned to rummage in my pack, which lay on the floor beside him. “You’re a pack rat, Nora, you know that? What’s this?”

He pulled out the Mother’s icon, and handed it to me when I reached out for it.

“I found it,” I said. “It’s a long story. Is there water in there?”

He handed me another bottle, and I drank thirstily again.

“Give me a stimpak,” I said, and he raised his eyebrows. “Don’t judge me. You don't even get headaches.”

He handed me a stimpak, and I stabbed the needle directly into my face, between my eyebrows. 

“Nice thing about not being biologically based,” said Nick. “So?”

“It’s not my secret,” I said, holding onto the Mother’s icon as if it were my teddy bear, as the headache began to fade. “It’s his. Ask him.”

“He won’t tell me,” said Nick. “Neither will Hancock. So I figure, you know. It’s bad, right?”

I told him then, about the grave, tears leaking silently and unobtrusively from my raw, puffy eyes as I did, and he was quiet again, for a long time.

“Well,” he said finally. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just woke up, and I feel like shit. Give me a second.”

We sat still, me missing coffee more fiercely than I did most mornings, wondering how gross two-hundred-year-old cigarettes tasted, and how pissed off X9-21 would be with me if I started smoking again, after however many subjective years it had been now. I knew some of the Institute scientists had been smokers-- maybe I could persuade him that it wasn’t as bad for the human body as chems were.

(Fat chance. He was way too smart for me.)

“If we tell Far Harbor the truth--” Nick began.

“Oh, Nick,” I said. “We can’t. We can’t do that. They’ll freak the fuck out. They’ll probably march on Acadia and kill everybody here. They’ll probably kill Avery, too. And Brooks. They’ll _definitely_ kill DiMA.”

“Maybe that’s what he deserves,” said Nick.

I looked at him, at the grim clockwork jaw, the face so much like DiMA’s, except for the eyes, and the different areas of damage. 

“There’s something else I found out, from his memory banks,” I said. “Well, a bunch of other things, but-- It was right after he got you out of the Institute. You didn’t remember him, even then. Because of the experiments they’d been doing, I guess, or because of something that happened when you were escaping-- those failsafes you always speculated about. Whatever. You didn’t recognize him. You hit him, you called him a freak, and then you ran off. It was-- he cut it out of his head, he doesn’t remember. He couldn’t stand it. He remembers _you_ \-- he held onto that-- but that last fight, the things you said to him--”

“Enough,” said Nick. “So you forgive him.”

“Whatever that means.” I wiped at my stinging eyes. “Yeah, I do. I don’t-- forget-- I can’t forget-- when I look at him-- but, fuck, Nick. Yeah. I forgive him. We have to. We have to-- move on. And-- hope. For better.”

Nick reached out to me, to my surprise-- he wasn’t a touchy guy-- and brushed my swollen face with his mechanical hand, the one stripped bare of even the synthetic rubber flesh that coated the other one. It was cold, and thin, and a little unnerving-- there were sharp points-- but he was careful, and touched me gently.

“Oh, yet we trust that somehow good  
Will be the final end of ill,” he began, in that voice he always used to recite poetry. The old, human detective Nick Valentine’s favorite poems, copied into Nick’s mechanical brain along with his generosity, his intelligence, his love and grief for Jennifer Lands, his determination to see justice done.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh, shit, Nick. I know this one.” Katherine Miller, my best friend in undergrad-- how many years since I’d remembered her, how funny she was, how brilliant and generous and silly and sweet, how she’d wanted to be a podiatrist “because not many people actually like other people’s feet, so I figure it’s my calling”?-- had died in a car crash our junior year, and the poem her sister had read at her funeral had been the thing that finally made me cry. I’d memorized it, later, and I said the next lines with Nick now: 

“To pangs of nature, sins of will,  
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood--”

He stopped, and I kept going. I remembered.

“That nothing walks with aimless feet,  
That not one life shall be destroyed,  
Or cast as rubbish to the void,  
When God hath made the pile complete--”

“That not a worm is cloven in vain,” said Nick.  
“That not a moth with vain desire  
Is shriveled in a fruitless fire,  
Or but subserves another's gain.

“Behold,” he added, and smiled a twisted little smile at me, “we know not anything.”

I smiled back; I was crying again, my eyes so sore by now they felt like they might be bleeding. “I can but trust that good shall fall  
At last-- far off-- at last, to all,  
And every winter change to spring.”

“So runs my dream,” Nick joined in, and we said the last part together. “But what am I?  
An infant crying in the night,  
An infant crying for the light,  
And with no language but a cry.”

“All right,” said Nick, and brushed at my tears with cool, skeletal metal fingers. “All right, Nora. Come on. Get up.” 

…………………………………………………………………..

I figured it would be smarter to wait for Hancock and X9-21 to get back from their clue-finding expedition than to set off without them, either to find them or to go negotiate with Far Harbor for peace with the Children of Atom (which would be, I figured, the beginning of the Children’s peace with Acadia), so I ate some breakfast, slowly enough that I wouldn’t puke it back up, and drank some more water, and let Acadia go about its business around me.

“What was her name?” I asked DiMA quietly, when I could do it without anyone else overhearing.

If he’d said “Who?” I think I would have punched the rubber skin right off his face, but he didn’t. He said, “I don’t remember, Nora. I’m sorry.”

“You have to fucking remember,” I said very softly. “You have to _think_. You can’t have erased her from your memory _completely_. She came here, she needed your help, she had a story. She was here for awhile-- you knew each other well-- or she wouldn’t have agreed to do this for you. For all of you. _Think_.”

He hesitated, and then he said, “I do-- yes, it must be her I-- remember. I never questioned-- to myself-- what had happened to her. How-- how very strange.”

“Her name, DiMA,” I said.

His eyes were wide. “Jane.”

“Jane,” I said. “How did she pick that?”

“The Institute had something of a collection of prewar literature, accessible by the humans,” said DiMA. “There was a human child, born in the Institute, who took to Jane-- F4-38, as she was then-- and often lingered near her, as she worked, and narrated to her the plots of various books she was reading. The name Jane came from one of those books. A story about a woman with supernatural powers, who cared for several young children-- siblings-- the eldest of whom was named Jane. F4-38 enjoyed the stories very much, and that one in particular.”

“Why did you pick her?” I asked, already crying again. If I didn’t stop this, I was going to go blind.

“I don’t remember, Nora,” he said softly. “But I must have chosen her-- because I trusted her. I would have chosen someone who, if she refused me, wouldn’t hold it against me that I’d asked-- and whom I believed would be brave enough, and generous enough, to-- to agree.”

I walked away from him then, and he didn’t speak to stop me.

…………………………………………………..

It was after noon, and I was sitting on the concrete steps outside Acadia, thinking about Jane and Captain Avery and Far Harbor and fog condensers and Tektus and Richter and Jule and Dr. Amari, and trying to figure out what to do next, when Hancock and X9 returned. Between them was a woman in a ragged robe and some concentric-circle face tattoos, looking wild-eyed and thistle-haired, and hungry. I jumped to my feet.

X9-21 said something to the woman that I couldn’t hear, and she ran forward. I’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when she reached me and seized my hands.

“Are you Sister Nora?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ve come to tell you the truth about Nothing.”

I held her hands and looked over her shoulder at Hancock, who gave me a small, sheepish smile. I remembered vividly, all of a sudden, the time he’d told me that when I cried, it made him want to bring me things he’d hunted down, like a cat. Well, here was poor Sister Gwyneth, deposited at my feet like a wild-eyed, heretical mouse. I guessed I should be glad they hadn’t arrived with Gwyneth slung over X9-21’s stoic shoulder, kicking and screaming.

“Hey, Sister Gwyneth,” I said softly. “You OK? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “And even if I were, pain and suffering are such an infinitesimal drop in the infinite ocean of Nothing that they are-- statistically negligible. We are all statistically negligible. Compared to Nothing, anything that is, is simply a-- an error. An anomaly. A moment’s pause, a grain of meaningless sand in the eternal, immeasurable span of Nothing that is all that truly exists. Or-- unexists.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s kind of scary.”

“It is truth,” she said, “and if you will hear truth with an open heart, you will hear the comfort in it. Nothing truly matters, but Nothing. Our errors, our foolish dreams, our broken hearts, are all Nothing. I am nothing. You are nothing. Atom is nothing. Love, hate, fear, hope-- all that we build, and all that is swept away-- nothing. Hear me, sister, and believe, and be at peace.”

It did sound peaceful. 

_Behold, we know not anything._

“I have seen the truth, sister,” said Gwyneth, staring holes in me with her bright, fanatic eyes. “In a prewar physics textbook, I saw it. The true shape of Atom. Tiny fragments, ephemeral, like drops of dew that fade with the morning’s sun, suspended on a gossamer thread, stretched over a vast gulf of Nothing. Oh, sister, you understand. You, too, yearn for the blessed painlessness that Nothing brings. I see it in your face.”

“Yeah,” I said. I’d seen the picture she was talking about, or something a lot like it. And I did know what she meant, about the blessed painlessness. I’d tended to chase it through booze and chems, rather than divine revelation, but-- “I guess I do. I think we all do, sometimes. Yearn for Nothing.”

“Yes,” she said. “Nothing calls to us.” 

“So does everything, though, Gwyneth,” I said. “So does love. And hope. I think-- Sister, you know what I think? I think you’re incredibly brave, facing up to the truth, about how much of the world is made up of-- just nothing. But I think you’re wrong about what that means. I think you’re wrong that it means everything else doesn’t matter. I think it matters more than ever. The little bits of things that _are_ something. Like love. Like the Mother of the Fog, and her love for you, and the way she called you and your friends to this island, to live out your days-- blessed by the Glow.”

“No,” she said. “What of those who are not saved? What of our parents and brothers and sisters and children and beloved friends, stricken down by the same Glow that nourishes us? There is no meaning in it. There is no pattern, no higher intent, no divine plan. There is Nothing. The meaning of everything is Nothing.”

_So runs my dream, but what am I?_

“I know,” I said, the stinging tears starting again, and put my arms around her. “It’s so hard. The ones who aren’t saved. But we’re still here. Some of us are still here. And we have to stick together, Gwyneth. We have to keep trying, OK? We have to hold onto each other, and hold onto what _is_. For each other. For our Mother. OK? Please, sister.”

She stood still for awhile, in my arms, and then her arms came up to wrap around my back, and then they tightened, and she held on for awhile, saying nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "In Memoriam A.H.H.," 54.](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-memoriam-a-h-h-54-oh-yet-we-trust-that-someho/))


	9. every now and then I can see that I am getting somewhere; where I have to go is so deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Shawn Colvin, "Diamond in the Rough"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDpHggDfxQs))

When Gwyneth finally let go of me, she looked around, as if seeing where she was for the first time-- a couple of synths had come out to see what was going on and were staring at us with interest-- and then looked back at me.

“What is this place?” she asked. 

I looked past her at Hancock. “You didn’t even tell her where you were bringing her?”

“We told her we were bringing her to someone who wanted to hear her message,” said Hancock. “She was preaching to a bunch of skeletons in a church. Seemed happy about upgrading to somebody with ears.”

“They said you had sent for me,” said Gwyneth, “having heard of my heresies, and that you wished to hear what I had to say, and that you meant me no harm. I thought, if someone will hear me, and know the truth, and believe, and preach in my stead, perhaps, at last, I can-- rest.”

“You do look like you need rest,” I said. “And food. What have you been eating?”

“What I found,” she said. “Enough. Eating is nothing more than-- putting nothing into more nothing.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “But if we’re going to help each other deal with the Nothing of it all, we have to keep our strength up. Come on, I’ll get you something.”

“I don’t have any caps,” she said. "Or anything to trade.” She giggled, a little hysterically. “I have Nothing.”

“Sister,” said Hancock, and she turned to look at him, “you don’t know my wife that well yet, but I can go ahead and tell you now, that hug she just gave you was the moment you quit needing to worry about ever starving to death.”

“It’s true,” I said, when Gwyneth turned back to me. “I’ll also stab anybody you need stabbed. Come on inside.” 

……………………………………………………………

When we got inside, Faraday was talking to DiMA and Nick, who stood on the dais where I’d first met DiMA. Faraday made a wordless noise of exclamation and alarm when I walked in with a Child of Atom; three seconds later, Chase came in, at a fast trot, with her rifle in her hands. I couldn’t help smiling at her. 

“Hey, guys,” I said. “This is--”

“Sister Gwyneth,” said DiMA, stepping forward.

She looked startled, too, but not frightened. “DiMA. Is Martin here?” 

“No,” DiMA said, and she seemed to sag. “I wish he had come to me, when he fled the Nucleus. If he fled the Nucleus, and was not-- as I fear--” He broke off. “It’s good to see you again, Gwyneth. You look--” He hesitated.

“Not well, I imagine,” she said, with a faint smile.

“Tired,” said DiMA. “And hungry. Please, sit down. Faraday, would you be so kind as to find our guest some refreshment?”

We got Gwyneth settled on a crate (I had to build some better furniture here, first chance I got. Add it to the list) and dragged another crate up next to her for a table, and the rest of us settled around, me and Hancock on the floor, DiMA and Nick on more crates, Chase and X9 standing, opposite each other, keeping watch. Faraday came in long enough to bring some grilled radstag-- radstags seemed a lot more plentiful here than in the Commonwealth-- and cooked carrots, and purified water, and a Vim! soda. I’d tried one earlier, at the Last Plank, and it had an interesting flavor-- not as sweet as Nuka Cola, with an herbal, tonic edge-- but I knew I’d never be able to look at a bottle of it again without thinking about what was buried in the basement of the factory. Gwyneth seemed to like it, though. 

“Thank you,” she said, setting the bottle down. “But I don’t understand-- anything. What is this place? Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

“This is Acadia,” I said. “DiMA’s home. I’m Nora Bowman. I’m a new member of the Children of Atom. They asked me to come find you, and bring you home.”

“Oh,” she said, and stood up so quickly she staggered, and almost fell. “Oh, no, no, no, I can’t--”

I started to scramble up, too, but X9-21 was already there, steadying her. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and he said quietly, “You are not in danger.”

She nodded, after a moment, and let X9 help guide her back to her seat.

“I can’t go back,” she said, sitting stiffly, and looking at no one in particular. “If I speak the truth there-- the only one who could have saved me is gone. When Martin was High Confessor, before he disappeared, he was kind, and indulgent to my questioning, but he is gone, and the High Confessor now is an evil man, full of rage and cruelty.”

“How do you know who the High Confessor is now?” I asked, and she tensed even more. “Oh. _Oh_. Zealot Thiel-- She did find you, didn’t she?” 

“She would not hear me,” said Gwyneth, looking down at her empty plate, “but she would not kill me, either. She told me Tektus was the High Confessor now, and that he had ordered my death. She told me to flee the island, and then she left me.”

“Why didn’t you flee?” Nick asked.

She seemed to be considering that, picking absently now at the label on the soda bottle.

“This island is-- my home,” she said eventually. “This is where I felt-- I must bear witness. And if I was to die-- I wanted to do it here. Not far away, among strangers, who would not even know-- who I was, or why I died.”

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “and either way, you definitely don’t have to go back if you don’t want to-- but Grand Zealot Richter promised me that if I brought you back, no harm would come to you.”

“That’s not up to him,” she said.

“He seemed to think it was.”

She frowned. “If the High Confessor wants me dead--”

“He kind of wants me dead, too, I think,” I said. “But Richter talked him down from making a public example of me, and he seemed to think he could do the same for you. Is there anyone else at the Nucleus you think wants you dead? Sounds like Thiel definitely doesn’t, and everybody else I met seemed pretty cool. Mai, Devin, Ware--”

“They are all my dear brothers and sisters,” said Gwyneth wistfully. 

“Then it seems like the only real problem is Tektus.”

“So we just kill Tektus,” said Hancock, and I frowned at him. “What?”

“Just because he’s the problem doesn’t mean killing him is the solution,” I said. “The Children are good people, with a bad leader. So why do they listen to him?”

“Why did the folks of Diamond City listen to the fake mayor when he kicked out the ghouls?” Hancock asked. “They’re scared. Scared of speaking up, in case they’re next. Or in case they’re wrong. Or in case they lose friends, or put their friends in danger. It’s a scary world out there. So you stay still. Nobody wants to rock the lifeboat.”

“Especially when the lifeboat captain’s got divine Atomic sanction,” said Nick. “We should’ve brought Piper. She could’ve started a Nucleus newspaper. Nuclear Occurrences.”

“Don’t need a printing press to tell the truth and shame the devil,” said Hancock, and looked at me. “You’ve already made a pretty good start. Preaching peace, in the name of the Mother of the Fog. Even got Richter thinking. And Devin thinks you’re the holy messenger for sure-- he’s probably already spreading the good news of the Mother’s peace to anybody who’ll listen.”

“I hope that doesn’t put him in danger,” I said, frowning. “If he gets declared a heretic, too--”

“No one will listen to Tektus if he speaks against the Mother of the Fog,” said Gwyneth, who was listening with interest. “It’s she who led us to this island. Gave it to us. What have you to do with her?”

“I saw her in a vision,” I said, and jumped up to get her icon from my pack. I brought it to Gwyneth, who took it and held it reverently in her hands. “She led me to this. She told me to bring peace to her children.”

“Oh,” said Gwyneth.

She set the icon gently down next to her empty soda bottle, slid from the crate to her knees on the floor, wrapped her arms around my hips, and buried her face against my stomach.

I put my hands on her head, smoothing her wild hair, and looked around nervously.

Nick was smiling. DiMA looked bemused. Chase and X9, of course, looked impassive.

“This is why I never got into the whole religious angle of leadership,” said Hancock. “You start declaring divine right to rule, next thing you know some random stranger pops up with a bona fide vision and you’re screwed. Could almost feel sorry for Tektus.”

……………………………………………………..

Gwyneth could barely get back up from her knees when I tried to raise her; a squarish meal for the first time in who knew how long, plus (I hoped) feeling safe again, had her muscles going slack and her eyelids falling shut despite herself. X9 helped me get her to the same mattress where I’d spent the night, and we covered her with a stale-smelling blanket from the same storeroom.

“I can’t stay here,” she said, her eyes already closing. “I’m putting this place in danger. If Tektus finds out that DiMA is harboring a heretic, it will be the final straw.”

“OK,” I said. “We’ll figure something out. But for right now, just rest.”

She nodded, without opening her eyes, and was still. X9 and I rejoined the others, minus Chase, who’d wandered off somewhere while we were gone; DiMA, Nick, and Hancock were still there, though, and X9 resumed his self-appointed post, standing apparent guard against whatever.

“OK, guys,” I said, beginning to pace, wishing I had one of those cork boards with push pins and different colors of yarn, and pictures of Far Harbor and the Nucleus and Gwyneth and DiMA and Avery/Jane and Richter and Tektus and the Mother of the Fog. “Let’s recap.”

Far Harbor first, I proposed and they agreed, to find out their problems with the Children of Atom (besides the Children’s problem with their fog condensers, which were obviously non-negotiable) and determine acceptable terms of peace. I’d talk to, to Captain Avery-- I stumbled over her name, and everyone noticed, but no one said anything-- and see what she had the authority to promise; I’d also talk to the rest of the townsfolk and see where they stood, and if there was particularly virulent anti-Children sentiment in town, I’d try to figure out why and how to fix it. While I was at it, ditto with anti-synth sentiment. 

Then back to the Nucleus, to report on how I’d done at Far Harbor, and get the lay of the land regarding Gwyneth, and Acadia. I’d talk to Mai, to Ware and Devin, to the other Children I’d met--

“--oh,” I said, remembering. “Sister Mai wanted me to find her some parts for something she’s working on. That would probably be helpful if I go ahead and bring her those.”

“Seems beneath the dignity of a holy messenger,” said Hancock.

“No such thing,” I said. “The Mother’s daughter wants parts for a fucked-up decon arch, she _gets_ parts for a fucked-up decon arch. Although at some point it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to build a real decon arch here. Add it to the list.”

Ask around about Gwyneth. Suggest that the Mother would want us to treat her gently and guide her home. Ask about Tektus. See if anybody else thought he was a gross bully, and if so, how would we go about defrocking him or impeaching him or whatever, and would Richter as High Confessor be any improvement, and if not, who would.

“What if they nominate _you_ as High Confessor?” Nick suggested.

“Atom forbid,” I said. “I’m just a humble divine emissary. We can also ask around about what might have happened to Martin. If people think he’s dead, or what, and how they feel about it. And who else remembers DiMA, and how they feel about him, and about synths in general. And after all this-- after we have more information, as much information as possible, and hopefully have planted some seeds about the Mother’s peace-- we meet back up, we discuss, and we make further plans. OK? Questions, comments?”

“You’re not gonna tell the Nucleus you’ve got Gwyneth?” Nick asked.

“Good question,” I said. “I’d like to lie as little as possible, since we’re trying to build an actual peace based on reality here, but if she’s afraid to go back, and if letting the Nucleus know she’s here might put Acadia in danger-- well-- I’m not sure what our options are.”

“Could just tell Richter,” said Hancock. “Test his good faith. Tell him you found her, but she’s scared and she doesn’t want to come back. See what he has to say to that. To everybody else-- don’t lie, but don’t say.”

I nodded. “Sounds workable. Everybody else?”

Nods all around, even from X9-21 when I looked at him. 

“Then we have a plan,” I said. “Next question. Who’s coming to Far Harbor with me?”

“I am,” said everybody in the room in unison.

I stared around at them, starting with-- “DiMA?”

“I owe her that much,” said DiMA. “To look in her eyes again, knowing-- knowing.”

I stepped over to him and-- I could do it, now-- took his hand. He looked up at me with his strange grey eyes-- no tears in them, since he couldn’t cry, and there was nothing programmed into his autonomic nervous system to make his hand tremble or feel cold in mine. Still.

“You can’t repay what you owe her,” I said, as gently as I could. “But I think, if she could know what happened, she’d want us to make her sacrifice worthwhile. And that might mean you see her again sometime, and look in her eyes, and if you need to, then I’m glad you’re willing. But it’s not what’s needed right now, I think. Seeing you in Far Harbor right now-- it’s just going to stir up feelings, and not necessarily the right ones to make peace. But sometime, maybe. Stay ready. OK?”

He nodded, and I looked at Nick. “I know you were in favor of telling them the truth. Still?”

“I get why we need to be-- careful,” he said, carefully. “But-- it goes against the grain, I’ll be honest. Not to-- you know. Like Hancock said. Tell the truth and shame the devil.”

“Not everybody who’s ever done something wrong is the devil,” I said, not looking at DiMA. “And if it’s going to bother you that we don’t do full disclosure, I think it’s best you don’t come. I think we-- right now-- like Hancock also said. Don’t lie, but don’t say.”

“I’m a veritable fount of pithy wisdom,” Hancock agreed. “So why don’t I get to go with you to Far Harbor?”

“The visual of you, love,” I said. “It’s kind of-- distracting? Especially when we’re talking about the Children having maybe caused the Fog that irradiates everything all the time? Looking at a ghoul while we have this conversation-- I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s going to be-- the most helpful. Don’t be mad.”

“Fine,” said Hancock. “Take your strapping, handsome, human-looking son on the diplomatic mission, see if I care.” To my relief, he winked at me. “Sure you don’t want to get him a more diplomatic name, for the trip? Jeff? Steve? Adonis?”

“If temporarily assuming a humanlike name will assist your endeavors, ma’am--” X9-21 began.

“You’re fine, X9,” I said, smiling at him. “Hancock’s kidding. You OK with this? You and me, Project Far Harbor?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and showed his teeth again in a fierce, happy smile. “I am entirely OK with this.”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s do it.”


	10. come on, baby, play me something like "here comes the sun"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Metric, "Gimme Sympathy"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jq3-wZs64n4))

“Captain Avery” seemed happy enough to see me and X9-21 again, but when I asked about the Children of Atom, she sighed.

“Far Harbor has no-- official policy-- of hostility against the Children of Atom,” she said. “But life is hard, here. Everyone is always on alert, against threats from the outside. The Children, unfortunately, have identified themselves as one of those threats. They speak against the fog condensers, which are one of the things that keep us alive-- that, and the Hull, and our own-- caution.”

“Add me to the list,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

She smiled-- a gentle, tired smile that I couldn’t help but wonder about. Whose smile was it? How deep did the facial reconstruction go? Did a smile like that come from memories, or from who you were underneath them?-- and said, “Not that I’m saying no-- but why are you so interested in helping us?”

“I want Acadia safe,” I said, truthfully.

“Then you found what you were looking for there?”

“Yes,” I said. “More than I even knew I was looking for. And I know Far Harbor’s not a threat to Acadia-- because of you, frankly--”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“It seems like it,” I said. “But if there’s going to be real peace around here, there has to be peace with the Children of Atom, too. And if the way to make that happen is to make Far Harbor safer, so they’re not so scared and fighty all the time-- or even if that’s one step along the way-- then that’s what I want to do. Plus-- you seem like a nice, hardworking lady. If I can make _your_ life easier-- sign me up, OK?”

“Goodness,” she said mildly. “I'm not sure a stranger's ever arrived in Far Harbor asking how she could make my life easier. Well-- since you ask-- there is something you can do.”

I left her with a plan-- go wander around in the fog looking for a missing guy, or more likely his body, and some missing parts for the fog condensers he was supposed to set up, and set them up myself. She also gave me some advice.

“Ask around town,” she said. “There may be others who’ll be pleasantly surprised that you’re offering to help.”

I did what she said. 

The people of Far Harbor, it turned out, hadn’t just been irritable with me because I was walking around with a ghoul and a robot. Even with just X9-21 along, they were still pretty snippety. We lucked out, though, when we checked in with the local doctor and found him tending a dying man. The guy had a radiation overload that wasn’t responding to treatment, and I finally got the chance to dig out Jack Cabot’s weird serum and give it a try, and damned if it didn’t actually work, or seem to. The guy started breathing normally, his color looked better, and although he didn’t wake up, he seemed to be sleeping rather than comatose. The doctor seemed pretty impressed, and told us to check back later.

I also met a lady who wouldn’t give me any name besides “the Mariner,” who wanted me to bring her some power tools only to be found at some random abandoned (presumably perilous) worksite, and another lady, named Cassie Dalton, wanted me to avenge her family by killing a bunch of ferals.

“Well,” I said, as X9 and I headed back out of town. “This should be a good start.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I hesitated, looking sideways at him. “You know-- who Avery is, right? I mean, that she’s not really Avery?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said X9. “Hancock told me, while we were pursuing the rogue Child of Atom.”

He didn’t say anything else. I figured it wasn’t that big a deal to him, or else that he didn’t much want to talk about it with me-- after all, he’d spent most of his life chasing down and factory-resetting synths at the Institute’s behest-- and I didn't say anything else about it, then.

…………………………………………………….

Having X9 fighting at my side was a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Maybe it was bloodthirsty of me to enjoy it so much, but if I hadn’t cultivated a certain taste for violence-- when it was well deserved, at least-- I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I had in the Commonwealth, let alone accomplished what I had. As Hancock had said once, “There’s no sport to spilling blood if the person ain’t earned-- lucky for us, the Commonwealth provides.”

The island provided, too, and richly. I was torn between wanting to goggle in admiration at X9-21’s aim, speed, strength, precision, and grace, and wanting to focus on my own fighting-- not even so much in the interests of not getting killed, because it was already obvious X9 was not going to permit that to happen, but in the interests of impressing him, too, maybe, a little bit. I’d blushed like hell the first time Hancock had said, “Handled yourself pretty well, sister,” after a fight; I wasn’t sure if X9 would ever consider it appropriate to comment on my combat skills, but I _was_ hoping he’d at least think something mildly complimentary about them.

We didn’t say much at all, all day. We followed Avery’s directions, found the missing guy’s body, and the fog condenser parts, and fixed the fog condensers. We followed the Mariner’s directions and found the tools, amid a bunch of ferals we killed quickly, and a random guy I almost killed too before I realized he was just standing there staring, not attacking; he offered to buy the tools from me for an incredible amount of caps, I said no, he said fine, and we left. We found the monsters Cassie Dalton blamed for some fuckery, and killed them hard.

By that time, I was pretty well exhausted, and it was getting dark.

“We should get back to Acadia for the night,” I said, wiping the dripping sweat and blood from my forehead with my sleeve. “Check in, let them know we’re on a mission to win the hearts and minds of Far Harbor, and it might take awhile. I need to sleep. You need to-- rest, at least, right? Or could you just keep on like this forever and ever, with snack breaks?”

He grinned at me, looking more relaxed than I’d maybe ever seen him. We were both fairly well covered with blood and sweat and random bits of horrible amphibian guts and ghoul brains, and we probably both smelled hideous beyond all telling, but by now we were both past noticing. 

“No, ma’am,” he said. “I do need rest. And if we don’t return to Acadia for the night, the others will be concerned.”

“All right, let’s head that way,” I said, unscrewing the canteen from my belt. “You want some water?”

“I have some,” he said, touching his own canteen. “Thank you, ma’am.”

I drank, thirstily, and replaced my canteen, and we moved back towards Acadia. The dark fell quicker than I expected it to, and it got harder to see where I was going; tired, I tripped clumsily over something, a root or a rock, and would have fallen flat on my face if X9-21 hadn’t caught and steadied me. I blushed, in the dark, feeling like an idiot.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and he actually laughed.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, ma’am,” he said. 

“I _was_ hoping not to completely embarrass myself in front of you,” I said. He was still holding my arm. “You don’t have to hold me up, you know, I’m fine. Just a klutz, is all.”

“What is a klutz?” he asked.

“Oh-- a clumsy person,” I said. “Somebody who’s always tripping and flailing around.”

“You are not a klutz,” he said.

“Would you call me a klutz if you thought I was one?”

“No,” he said, “but I wouldn’t contradict you if I agreed with you.”

I laughed, too. “OK, fair enough. You’re still holding onto me, though.”

“It’s dark,” he said, “and you’re tired. If I keep hold of your arm, then if you stumble again, you’re less likely to fall.”

“See, I knew you thought I was a klutz.”

“If it would not be thoroughly disrespectful and inappropriate, ma’am,” said X9-21, “I would say that if you continue this foolishness, I’ll pick you up and carry you home over my shoulder.”

After the second it took to believe he’d actually said it, I started laughing so hard that if he hadn’t had hold of my arm, I would definitely have fallen over. 

“Jesus Christ, X9,” I gasped, clutching at his arm with both hands. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Perhaps the Fog has driven me mad,” he said, which made me laugh so hard I actually couldn’t breathe and saw stars for a second. I choked, and dragged in my breath, and he said, sounding faintly alarmed, “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Oh my God,” I wheezed, and coughed, and started laughing again. “Is this how you get when you kill enough stuff? Come with me everywhere and kill everything with me from now on, OK?”

“I understand that you enjoy traveling with your husband,” he said, “and that you value my protective presence at the Castle. But if you were to allow me to accompany you in the future, from time to time-- I do greatly-- enjoy-- putting my combat skills into practice.”

“I greatly enjoy it too, son,” I said. “You’re fucking amazing. What a great day this was. Let’s do it again tomorrow, OK? Far Harbor is bound to have some more shit for us to kill, once we report back in the morning.”

“It will be my pleasure as well as my privilege, ma’am,” he said. “Now, please, hold onto my arm, and let’s get home as quickly as possible.”

“Before you say something else hilariously awesome and I choke and die?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I like making you laugh, but there are reasonable limits.”

……………………………………

Back at Acadia, I managed to stay awake long enough to strip and wash myself and my clothes, and hang the clothes to dry, before collapsing onto a mattress and sleeping like a rock, with no dreams. I woke up just sore enough to feel good about the muscle tone I’d be building if I had the same kind of day today that I’d had yesterday. X9-21 had apparently explained, while I slept, what we’d spent yesterday doing, and what we planned to spend today doing. My clothes still weren’t dry-- damn Fog-- so I put on my other set. Hancock helped me with my body armor.

“You’re quiet today,” he said.

“Talked too much lately,” I said. “Felt good, yesterday, just to-- kill stuff. Therapeutic. Cathartic. Something like that.”

“You look better,” he agreed. “Well. Happy killing, today.”

A smile stretched my face. “Thanks. Everything OK here?”

He nodded.

“If I’m gone overnight,” I said, “don’t panic. I get the feeling there’s a lot more for me to do for Far Harbor, and-- I’m kind of looking forward to getting it done. Moving forward.”

“Tap me in if you need to,” he said. “Otherwise, have fun.”

I kissed him. “Did I ever tell you I love you a lot?”

“Think it might’ve come up a time or two,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

………………………………..

The people of Far Harbor seemed faintly surprised to see me and X9 back and alive; they seemed more or less grudgingly happy to hear our news and, in the Mariner’s case, get the tools that were apparently worth actual thousands of caps to the right person. 

The almost-dead guy from before was up and around, which made me really happy. Score one for weird alien serum. Then the doctor told me if I really wanted to impress Far Harbor, I should do something called the Captain’s Dance, which apparently involved going out into the middle of the swamp, throwing meat in the water, waiting for horrible monsters to be attracted to it, and killing them.

“Are you fucking with me?” I asked. “It sounds like you’re fucking with me.”

“It’s an old island tradition,” he said.

I turned to X9-21. “Is he fucking with me?”

“To the best of my ability to ascertain,” said X9-21, “no.”

“OK then,” I said. “I will take that under consideration. Thanks.”

The doctor grinned. “You’re welcome. Good luck.”

“Son,” I said, as we headed out again, “if your lie detecting skills are as good as I think they are, and this is actually the best way to impress Far Harbor and make them trust us, then this is the best day since yesterday.”

It was, too. We killed a million monsters, including a mirelurk queen, and shot ourselves up with stimpaks and limped back to Far Harbor, where a couple of people actually cheered, and the doctor ceremoniously gave us a tricorn hat and a bowl of some vilely glutinous-looking seafoody concoction that turned out to taste fantastic. I gave the hat to X9-21, who put it on immediately, and looked amazing in it, like some brooding buccaneer that Nick probably knew a poem about. 

After that, I met a little girl named Small Bertha, who was a complete badass, and wanted us to help her people take back the island from the trappers, ferals, super mutants, and fog monsters, and make some old settlement sites safe again.

Mitch from the Last Plank told us his uncle had disappeared, and told us where he’d last been seen.

The Mariner had more stuff for us to find, and Cassie Dalton had more stuff for us to kill.

It took the better part of a week to get everything done. Some nights we made it back to Acadia, long enough to wash and sleep and eat and set out again; others we crashed at the Last Plank, or rather, I crashed and X9-21 sat downstairs all night talking to somebody named Old Longfellow, who approached me drunkenly one morning, shook my hand, and offered me the use of his own plot of land and the little cabin he lived in anytime I felt the need.

“That boy of yours,” he said, “he’s a fine young man. ‘Minds me of me, when I was in my prime. Thinks the world and all of you, too. It’s a fine thing to see, ma’am. Well, you’ll never want for a roof over your head as long as Old Longfellow can stave off the Fog from his lungs.”

By the time we met up with Captain Avery again, I was physically exhausted and sore as hell, but feeling pretty good about the state of things. I was overdue back at the Nucleus, but not too badly, and hopefully I’d accomplished enough that I could feel good about the news I’d bring them. Maybe Hancock was right, and Devin-- and Ware, and Mai, and maybe even Thiel-- had been spreading the Mother’s message of peace. Maybe Richter had been thinking things over. Maybe Tektus had fallen off one of their rickety walkways and broken his mean old neck.

 _Peace_ , I told myself firmly, as Avery sat down across from us at the table in the Last Plank, Old Longfellow humming “Molly Malone” tunelessly to himself at the next table.

“You’ve made quite a reputation for yourselves around here,” Avery said, smiling at us. “All I hear around town is ‘the mainlanders, the mainlanders.’”

“I think Allen Lee still hates us,” I said.

She laughed. “Don’t take that too personally. Allen is a bit of a crank. Most of the town is-- well, impressed isn’t the word. Astonished! It’s been like having Mary Poppins appear out of nowhere, to look after us all with her magic.”

“Mary Poppins?” I said, surprised by the reference, and she said, “Just an old prewar story I heard somewhere-- a long time ago, it must have been, when I was a child. It isn’t important. You’re here to talk about--”

_A woman with supernatural powers, who cared for several children, the eldest of whom was named Jane… F4-38 enjoyed that story in particular._

“The town's disposition towards the Children of Atom,” said X9-21. She couldn’t have known how unusual it was for X9-21 to speak unprompted in my presence, and so she almost certainly didn’t notice what he had-- that, right then, I couldn't have spoken a word to save my life.

"Yes," she said. "Well, my intention is to call a town meeting-- you're welcome to attend, by the way. I would think everyone would appreciate the chance to move a vote of thanks--"

"No thank you," I said, in what I hoped was a normal tone. "No-- I mean-- thank you-- but it should be, I think it should be just you guys. You tell them-- what you need to tell them, OK? Tell them you're safe. Tell them it's going to be all right. And I'll-- I should be going-- I'll talk to the Children-- I'll be back. Soon, OK? You're-- thank you-- Captain Avery."

I held myself together until we were out past the Hull, and even then, I didn't cry. I drew my breath in, deeply, and breathed it out, slowly, letting my body feel the way it felt. Tired, sore. Accomplished. And my heart, now, pounding wildly, all on its own.

"What did she say to upset you, ma'am?" X9-21 asked quietly.

"That story," I said. "It's one she-- used to know. Before. She still remembers. She doesn't know where she knows it from, but-- she does know. A little bit. Something she used to-- used to love. It's the story she named herself after."

"Will you tell it to me?" X9-21 asked, and I drew another shuddering breath, and smiled at him.

"Sure," I said, and tried to tell him what I remembered of the silly, strange, magical story a little human girl had once told a synth as she worked. It was a crazy story-- series of stories, really-- and I laughed as I told them, the way the little girl had probably laughed, and F4-38, too, if she dared; and a few tears slipped out, but only a few, as we walked back to Acadia.


	11. I'm not the only one who's waiting to be born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([The Fratellis, "Seven Nights Seven Days"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5QL37Sk8lU))

“So then they look around and they realize they’ve gotten really tiny and they’re _inside_ the little park Jane made, and the little people she made out of plasticine have come to life, and they invite Jane and Michael to come and join the feast they’re about to have.”

“Are the people still made of plasticine?” X9-21 asked.

“Um, I’m not sure. Oh, but the feast is real now. Jane says she made it out of plasticine and Mister Mo says--”

“One moment, ma’am,” said X9, halting suddenly. “Someone is coming. We should have our weapons ready.”

“OK,” I said, a couple of moments before a human figure came into sight among the trees and walked towards us, his gun out. It was another couple of moments before I recognized Richter’s beard and face tattoo. He wasn’t smiling.

“You were warned more than once,” he said, stepping into the clearing where X9 and I stood waiting, “that action against the family would not be tolerated.”

“I haven’t acted against the family,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“Your blasphemies have spread across this island like a plague,” he said. “Your fog condensers are everywhere.”

“Not _everywhere_ ,” I said. “But yeah, I did get a fair few up and running. But how is that--”

“You have conspired with the heretic Gwyneth to empower Far Harbor to destroy the Nucleus.”

“No I haven’t, Richter,” I said. “Where is this coming from?”

“If you surrender your weapons and come with me peacefully,” he said, “I can still negotiate for your life with the High Confessor.” He looked at X9-21. “I have no quarrel with you, whoever you are. You’re free to leave. Keep better company in the future.”

I sighed. “Richter, I was coming back to the Nucleus anyway. Peacefully. But I need to check in at home first. And I’m definitely not surrendering my weapons to you. Especially not _here_. Have you _seen_ the shit that roams this island?” 

He raised his gun and aimed it at me, and X9 wasn’t beside me anymore, and Richter’s gun went off, the bolt hitting a nearby tree, and hit the ground as X9 wrenched his right arm brutally back. Richter screamed.

“Don’t kill him--!”

On “don’t” X9 kicked Richter’s legs out from under him; by “him” Richter was flat on his back and X9 had one knee on the ground and the other resting lightly on Richter’s injured arm, the serrated blade of his combat knife shoved up hard under Richter’s chin. 

“--X9-21,” I finished. “Thank you.”

Richter made a little noise. I saw a thin trickle of blood from where X9 had the knife to his throat. 

“Ease up, son,” I said. “Let him breathe.”

X9 scowled, but obeyed me. Richter breathed in hard and coughed, and X9 pulled the knife’s edge back enough that the motion didn’t slit Richter’s throat.

“Others will come, when I don’t return,” Richter rasped. “They’ll destroy you, and avenge my death.”

“What death?” I said. “Can we not talk about whatever this is, like civilized people? Let him sit up, OK, X9?” 

I sat down on the marshy, prickly ground, as X9, the knife pressing a little harder again, turned his head to give me a long, level stare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “He’s not even armed anymore. Except the left arm.”

“He underestimated the threat we posed once,” said X9 (dammit, Hancock would have laughed at that joke. Or at least noticed it). “If he tries again to harm you--”

“He’s not going to,” I said. “He wasn’t really going to shoot me. He was just trying to scare me. Right, Richter? This is all just a misunderstanding. Come on, get off him so we can talk.”

“I have my orders,” said X9-21 quietly to Richter, pulling back on the knife again. “But if, at any time, it seems to me that Ms. Bowman is mistaken regarding the level of threat you pose to her safety, I will act against those orders sooner than I will allow that safety to be compromised. Do you understand?”

Richter nodded, and X9-21 moved carefully off him. He sat up, slowly, crying out softly between his teeth as his right arm swung and dangled limply, and keeping an eye on X9-21. 

“ _Who_ is this?” he managed, as I rummaged in my pack. 

“My son,” I said. “X9-21. Here, catch.”

He didn’t catch what I tossed him; he moved to, clumsily, with his left hand, but only succeeded in batting it to the ground in front of him, where he looked at it suspiciously.

“It’s not poisoned or anything,” I said. “All my poisoned stimpaks are clearly marked FOR ENEMIES, so I don’t accidentally use them on myself. Go on, fix yourself up.”

Slowly, again clumsily, with his left hand, he slid the stimpak needle into his right arm through the cloth of his robe, hissing as he did so. 

“Better?” I asked, and after a second, he nodded. “So you came alone to take me prisoner? That’s sweet, Grand Zealot. I know you didn’t know I was with my son, but how exactly did you think I got all those fog condensers set up? Wandering up with a big grin and preaching peace to the ferals? Showing them my little statue?” 

“There’s no need to be snide,” said Richter, touching his throat lightly, smearing the thin line of blood X9’s knife had left behind. “Your-- son-- has already pointed out that I underestimated the threat.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. Am I right, too, that you didn’t really want to shoot me?”

“Of course I didn’t want to shoot you,” he said. “If I’d wanted to shoot you, I wouldn’t have spoken to you before doing so.”

“See,” I said to X9-21. “Like I said-- this is all just a misunderstanding. Listen, Richter, I like you. You seem like you have your head on straight, and it seems like you really care about the Children of Atom-- a couple of glitches notwithstanding, but I still don’t really know what was going on with that whole execution deal when I first showed up, so I’m reserving judgment on that. And it doesn’t seem like you’re as bloodthirsty and stupid as Tektus-- not that the Mother of the Fog doesn’t love Tektus too, she loves all her children, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a shitty leader.”

“To what treason and blasphemy do you confess?” he demanded. 

I couldn’t help smiling. “God, you’re feisty. ‘To what do you confess?’ He kind of reminds me of you, X9-21. Remember when we first met, when you were all tied up and injured, and the first thing you did was spit on me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said X9-21, without taking his eyes off Richter. “I remember.”

“I mean,” I added to Richter, “X9 also hated me at the time, and not without good reason. But what’s _your_ problem with me, exactly? Or are you just following Tektus’ orders, and if so, what’s _his_ problem? It can’t just be the fog condensers. And I really haven’t conspired with Gwyneth at all. She told me some blasphemies about how depressed and anxious and lonely she’s been feeling, and then she ate supper and went to bed. That’s about the extent of my interactions with her thus far.”

“You were not ordered to feed her supper and put her to bed,” said Richter. “You were ordered to return her to us for judgment. You deliberately disobeyed those orders.”

“OK, so maybe this is where the misunderstanding comes in,” I said. “See, I don’t take orders from you. Or from the High Confessor.”

“You agreed to do so when you joined us.”

“If you think back carefully,” I said, “I’m sure you’ll recall that I never agreed to any such patently ridiculous thing.”

“All of the Children of Atom submit to the authority of their appointed leaders,” said Richter. “You agreed to become one of us. Your pledge of obedience was _implicit_.”

“Yeah, well, you know what happens when you assume.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Well, now you do,” I said. “You get tackled by an ex-courser in a pirate hat. Next time just ask.”

“If you will not obey Atom’s duly appointed leaders,” said Richter, “in what sense are you one of us?”

“Um,” I said. “In the sense that I risked my life drinking from your initiation spring, and the Mother of the Fog came to me in a vision and guided me to her shrine and laid a charge upon me concerning your wellbeing? In the sense that, while I never promised you mindless obedience, I did pledge to use all the resources and skills at my disposal to protect you all and look after your interests? Like by establishing peace with Far Harbor? Which is why I’ve been running all over the island for a week helping every last citizen of Far Harbor resolve their personal vendettas and chase their most far-fetched dreams, so they’d be happy enough and I’d have enough influence there that they’d hear reason about establishing peace with the Children? In the sense that I’m sitting here right now trying desperately to convince you of my good intentions, instead of taking your head back to the Nucleus and throwing it down at Tektus’ feet and suggesting that he not fuck with me again? I don’t know, brother, what do you think? Can I be one of you? Or would you rather I wasn’t?”

“Careful, Grand Zealot,” said X9-21, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. “I believe you’ve succeeded in annoying my mother.”

“Well, I mean,” I said. “For fuck’s sake. We bust our asses all week--”

“You should have told us that was your intention in assisting Far Harbor,” said Richter.

“I _did_ tell you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“OK, so maybe I didn’t tell you _exactly_ what I was planning to do--”

“We misunderstood your intentions,” said Richter. 

“Again,” I said. “Next time, just ask.”

“I will,” said Richter, flexing the fingers on his right hand. “May I have my gun back, please?”

“Sure,” I said, and moved to retrieve it from where it had fallen. 

“If you point it at her again,” said X9-21 to Richter, “I _will_ kill you.”

“Would you really?” I asked him curiously. “Even though I told you not to?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I would prefer not to displease you, but I would rather displease you than lose you.”

“X9, that’s so sweet,” I said, holding Richter’s gun between my finger and thumb. “But I _will_ be mad if you kill him. And you will be grounded. You will be grounded from killing things. Until-- until you are sixteen.”

He smiled at me. “I’ll take my chances, ma’am.”

I handed Richter back his gun; it took a second before he even reached out for it. He was staring at me and X9, his lips slightly parted.

“It may be none of my business,” he said, “but I am _extremely_ curious about what exactly the situation is here.”

“Of course it’s your business, brother,” I said. “But don’t you need to head back to the Nucleus immediately, in case Tektus freaks out about how long you’ve been gone and sends his second most badass zealot after you?”

He rolled his eyes slightly. “I have some time to spare.”

“Then do you want to come back to Acadia?” I asked. “See how Gwyneth’s doing? I’ll have to take your gun back if you do, though. I don’t want to scare her. Or my-- the rest of the people at Acadia.”

“All right,” he said, and handed it back to me. “Lead on, sister.”

“You were telling me a story,” X9-21 said to me, as I stood up, and reached out to help Richter to his feet. “You said that Jane had made the feast out of plasticine, but now it had become edible.”

“Sorry,” I said to Richter. “I’ll explain in a second, but X9’s right, we were kind of in the middle of something when you interrupted. So they try the feast and it’s all turned real, and it’s delicious. And then Mister Mo’s kids show up--”

………………………………………………….

“Oh, no,” said Hancock, when X9 and I came in the door of the junk fence of Acadia with Richter. He was sitting on the concrete steps next to Miranda, a wooden basket of tatoes between them. “Nope. I draw the line. Nora, I love you, but--”

“He’s not staying,” I said. “Just saying hi. Is Gwyneth around?”

“Inside,” said Hancock.

“Should I go get her?” asked Miranda. 

Richter looked at me. “I would like to speak with her.”

“Without scaring her?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Richter, and I nodded to Miranda, who stood up and went inside, and returned surprisingly shortly-- although the awkward silence made it seem longer-- with Gwyneth, who stepped forward, down the steps, with her eyes downcast.

“Grand Zealot,” she said.

“Sister Gwyneth,” said Richter, in an unexpectedly gentle voice. “I’m glad to see you well. You’ve been missed, at the Nucleus.”

“My blasphemies--” Gwyneth began. “I can’t return with you, sir. High Confessor Tektus-- I should be willing to submit to his judgment. But-- I am not. Despite everything-- I am not ready to die. Forgive me, Grand Zealot.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, sister,” said Richter.

She looked up, her eyes full of painful hope. “Sir?”

“Are you being well looked after, here?” he asked. “Are you well treated? Are you safe?”

“Yes, Grand Zealot,” she said meekly.

“Then stay where you are, for the time being,” said Richter. “But don’t despair of being welcomed back home, in time. Atom is merciful, and his grace is boundless. Have patience, little sister.”

“Yes, sir,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

Richter looked at me. “She looks starved. Are you feeding her, here?”

“She was starving when she came here,” I said. “We’re feeding her. Promise.”

He inclined his head. 

“I should return to the High Confessor,” he said. “Thank you for allowing to visit you here. And for--” He glanced at X9-21, and smiled. “For my life.”

“The Mother still has a use for it,” I told him. “May her peace be upon you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “And upon you, sister.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “My gun? Please?”

I handed it back to him.

“Thank you,” he said again. “I’ll hope to see you back at the Nucleus soon.”

“How ready should I be to defend my life, when I get there?” I asked him, half joking, and he answered, very seriously, “You should always be ready. But the Nucleus-- you have more friends there than you may realize. You’re correct that the fog condensers aren’t the only reason I was sent after you. Be vigilant, sister. And-- bring your son, when you come.”


	12. it's time for a few small repairs, she said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Shawn Colvin, "Sunny Came Home"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfKKBDFCiIA))

“Oh my God,” I said, when Richter was gone. “That was nuts. Gwyneth, sweetheart, are you OK? I’m sorry I sprung him on you like that.”

“Yes, Sister Nora,” she said, looking dazed. “I’m all right. Thank you.”

“Good.” I turned back to X9. “X9-21, my superhero son-- up top.”

I held up my palm, and he looked at it blankly. 

“High five,” I clarified. “Smack my hand.”

“Ah,” he said, and slapped at my hand clumsily, moving at first as if to strike it aside-- and making me flinch a little, despite myself-- and then pulling back at the last minute, so that our fingers barely collided.

“No, here,” I said, raising my hand again. “Heel of your hand forward. Palm-to-palm contact. So it makes a noise. Like clapping your hands, but with two different people’s hands. Look at my elbow, it helps you aim.”

We managed a much more satisfying smack this time. 

“Fantastic,” I said. “You know what it means? A high five?”

“I believe so, ma’am,” he said. “It’s a celebratory gesture, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, grinning. “And a way of saying we make a good team. Like we’re applauding each other.” DiMA, Nick, and Chase had just emerged from the blue door and were coming down towards us. “Hey, everybody. Sit down. Or don’t. _I’m_ gonna sit down.” 

I flopped down on the steps with an ungraceful grunt, a few steps below Hancock, and shouldered off my pack so I could lean back against his legs. He pulled the ballistic-weave hat off my head and ran his fingers over my hair. 

“You gonna tell us what that was all about?” he asked, as the others gathered around. Chase stood opposite X9, which I’d noticed was her tendency, as if they had some unspoken agreement to watch each other’s backs. Nick and DiMA stood side by side, looking uncannily alike, except for the uncanny areas of difference. Gwyneth looked around, hesitantly; I held out a hand to her, and she came and sat down next to me, her hands folded carefully in her lap.

“Richter jumped out at us in the woods and tried to arrest me for high treason,” I said. “For all the work X9 and I have been doing, for Far Harbor. He was pretty intense about it. Pulled a gun and everything.”

Gwyneth gasped, and I reached out and put my hand over hers.

“We worked it out,” I told her. 

DiMA said, “He listened to reason?”

“Yes,” I said. “After X9-21 explained that he prefers when people don’t point guns at his mother, we had a good talk.”

Hancock laughed, behind me. “X9 must’ve been pretty persuasive. That why Richter had blood on his neck?”

“That might have been related,” I agreed, winking at X9, who smiled very slightly. “But after Richter realized Plan A wasn’t happening, he really did listen to reason. He’s not a bad guy. And he was pretty nice to you just now, right, Gwyneth? I mean, obviously we wouldn’t have let him hurt you, or scare you, but he was-- I thought what he said was kind of sweet.”

“Yes.” Gwyneth’s brow was furrowed. “It was-- I don’t really-- understand it. I’ve never heard him speak that way. He isn’t a cruel man, but he’s never been-- warm. Did he really call me ‘little sister’?”

“He did.” I remembered what I’d said to Richter, too, back at the Nucleus: _Be gentle with your brothers and sisters. They’re littler than you, and they need you to be kind._ Had he actually, miracle of miracles-- Mother be praised!-- been listening?

Of course, if he’d been picturing “the heretic Gwyneth” as some kind of diabolical mastermind cackling madly as she plotted to destroy the Nucleus, then maybe just the sight of her, gaunt-cheeked and head hung, asking for forgiveness, had been enough of a shock to make him rethink whatever bullshit Tektus had been giving him. Richter did seem to have the vanishingly rare ability that all my favorite people had, to think twice and admit when he’d been wrong, and maybe even actually do something about it.

Gwyneth was still looking puzzled. “Why did he tell me to stay here?”

“If I had to guess,” I said, “I’d say, because he thought you were safer here, for right now. Which is what you think too, right?”

“Yes.” Gwyneth shivered, looking at her hands, and at mine on top of hers.

“Because you think you’d be executed there,” I asked, “or because-- is it for some other reason?”

She hesitated, still looking at our hands. 

“You know, sister,” she said finally, “each of us-- of the Children of Atom-- has had, like you, some kind of-- experience. At least once, when we were brought into the fold. Sometimes more, if we are greatly blessed. I once thought I was greatly blessed, because I could-- see things-- that it seemed no one else could see. I thought it was a gift. But it drove me apart from my brothers and sisters. I saw the Nothing everywhere, I saw that we were all-- fragments-- spinning, alone, in the vast sea of Nothing-- you know, sister.”

“I do know.” I squeezed her hand lightly. “That’s why we’ve got to grab hold of each other, tight, and not let go. If enough of us do that, and if we stay close enough, the Nothing-- it’s still there, but there’s Something, too. We’re not alone anymore. Or-- spinning out.”

She nodded, not looking up. “But-- the Nucleus-- it was supposed to be the safe place, the place where the Mother had led us, where we could commune with our brothers and sisters in Atom. And instead it was full of-- darkness, and fear. Whisperings and murmurings, of heresy and disloyalty. Lies everywhere. To our own brothers and sisters. We were not close. It was not safe.”

I remembered Mai and Ware both hastily assuring me, and each other, that Devin’s suicide fast was very, very admirable. I remembered Thiel telling me she hoped I would succeed where she had failed. I pictured Thiel’s face when she found Gwyneth, the way it must have changed when she told her friend to run, before turning and running herself, back to the Nucleus, to lie to everyone else she knew.

Why? Because of Tektus? But--

“But you said Martin was kind,” I said to Gwyneth. “The last High Confessor. He was a friend of yours, right, DiMA?”

“He was very kind to me,” DiMA agreed.

“He was kind,” Gwyneth said. “But I would tell him of-- what I saw, of my doubts, and he would tell me they were-- wrong. That I should drive out these doubts, these wrong thoughts. That they were heresies. That I should cling to my faith, and forget all else. And-- I could not forget. And I could not pretend. It was killing me. It was killing us all, the lies-- and Tektus-- he was a black spot in my vision, his cruelty, his lust for death. He spoke of Division so-- caressingly-- and no one-- no one else said anything, no one seemed to see anything, they would shush me and tell me not to blaspheme, not to speak treason, that he was a great and holy man--”

“Wow,” I said. “No wonder you jumped up and decked him one day.”

“And now he is the High Confessor.” Gwyneth’s eyes-- they weren’t as hollow and dark-circled as they had been the day she’d arrived here, although she still wasn’t exactly the picture of blooming health and high spirits-- suddenly fixed urgently on me. “Everyone in the Nucleus is in grave danger, sister.”

“Maybe Richter’s figured that out,” I said. “Maybe that’s why he wants you here, out of harm’s way. And why he told me to bring X9 with me when I came back.”

She nodded again, and sighed, softly, and looked around-- at me, at DiMA and Nick and X9-21 and Chase, and up at Hancock, and back at me.

“Sister,” she said, “thank you for-- for having me brought here. I was-- I think I was-- going mad, out there alone.”

I put my arm around her, and she leaned trustingly against me, sending a pang through the pit of my stomach. I’d been so busy lately, I’d hardly had a second to miss--

“So,” said Nick, “before the Grand Zealot encounter, what was the word from Far Harbor?”

“Oh, yes.” I smiled. “It’s-- tentatively good news. We had our sit-down, me and-- Captain Avery-- and she’s going to call a town meeting and talk about peace. She said she’s pretty optimistic. I _was_ going to take the rest of the day off, chill out, go to bed early, and then head back to the Nucleus in the morning, let them know what’s up. But I don’t know. If I’ve already been gone so long that Tektus is sending goons out after me-- and if Sister Gwyneth, here, is right about the grave danger-- maybe I should just go back now.”

“We,” said X9-21. “Maybe _we_ should just go back now. Ma’am.”

I grinned at him. “Yes, son. I will be taking you with me. Maybe you, too, Hancock, if you’re up for it. I mean, I don’t know what’s going on there. Richter telling me to bring my son-- after seeing X9 in action-- well, it makes me a little bit nervous. I think I’d feel better with my two best guys with me.”

“So what am I,” said Nick, “chopped liver?”

I laughed. “You want to come too?”

“Not really,” said Nick. “No need to confuse the issue any more than they’re already confused. Some of them knew DiMA, right? Like Miss Gwyneth did? Having his brother show up in a trench coat--”

He wasn’t looking at DiMA as he spoke, and so he didn’t see the way DiMA’s face changed when Nick said “his brother”; the way his gray eyes widened, his gray lips parted slightly, the way his hand lifted, just a little, as if to reach out for Nick, and then fell back to his side.

“DiMA,” I said, and he looked up at me. “Before we head back out-- can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“That radio,” I said. “The one you used to talk to Kasumi. Where is it?”

……………………………………………………………..

He showed it to me, out on a wooden walkway, where he said the signal came in best, and showed me how to set it to Kasumi’s frequency, or at least the one he’d found her on before.

“Kasumi?” I tried, without much hope. She’d probably dismantled the radio by now. “Hello?”

There was a crackling, and then, “Who is this?”

“Kasumi!” I caught my breath, my stomach lurching as if the walkway had given way underneath me. “It’s me-- Emily’s mother--” 

_“Ms. Bowman?”_

“Yes,” I said. “Is Emily there?”

“I’ll go get her,” said Kasumi’s crackly voice.

A couple of endless minutes later-- _”Mother?”_

“Emily--”

So many people had kept me going, in this post-apocalyptic post-life of mine-- kept me alive and alert and sane and upright and more or less myself-- but it was Emily who’d made it so it wasn’t just about getting up every morning and getting the work done, doing the necessary things, and running out the clock, until I could decently die. It was Emily who’d showed me that the world had new things for me, endless possibilities, fresh and glorious ways to keep getting hurt and keep on growing stronger and be happier than I’d ever imagined possible. She’d infiltrated the tiny, safe, closed circle I’d made of my world after destroying the Institute-- Hancock, Shaun, the daily and weekly round of maintenance on a partially civilized Commonwealth-- and then, so gently, so painfully, so marvelously, forced it open so wide, till the Mother of the Fog couldn’t help but recognize me, and I her.

“Mother, are you all right?”

I was crying again. 

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m fine. It’s just so good to hear your voice. Oh, Emily, you’ll never believe who’s with me now.”

……………………………………………………………

We didn’t talk long. The signal faded in and out, and hearing her voice, crackly and thin and far away, just made me miss her worse.

“Everything’s going to be all right, sweetheart,” I told her. “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll tell you-- everything. Are the Nakanos looking after you?”

I heard her laugh. “Yes, yes. The Nakanos, and the Minutemen too. Are Hancock and X9-21 and Mr. Valentine looking after you?”

“They are,” I said, laughing too. “Especially X9. Baby girl, I’ve got so many stories to tell you when I get home. But I’m going to go now, all right?”

“All right, mother,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, Emily.”

“Bye, Ms. Bowman!”

“Goodbye, Kasumi!” I released the switch on the radio and looked up at DiMA. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said again, as I stood. “Nora--”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I mean, it’s not all right, of course, I don’t mean that, but-- you and me, we’re all right. OK?”

“OK,” he echoed. “And, Nora-- whatever you said to Nick-- thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Thank _you_. For Acadia.”

…………………………………………………..

“You sure you’re up for heading out again so soon?” Hancock asked, as we did so.

“With you two, I am,” I answered. “I’m hoping this isn’t going to get violent anyway, but if it does-- shit, Hancock, have you _seen_ X9 fight?”

“Little bit, on the way to Acadia,” said Hancock. “Pretty impressive.”

“You should’ve seen him clearing out the ferals and mirelurks, these last few days,” I said. “And breaking Richter’s arm for pulling a gun on me.”

“I didn’t actually break it, ma’am,” said X9-21. “But that reminds me-- may I ask for clarification regarding my standing orders?”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, what?”

“When you ordered me not to kill Grand Zealot Richter,” said X9-21, “I realized I was unsure of my standing orders, regarding the level of violence I should consider it appropriate or advisable to deploy, in the absence of any specific order. For example, on assignments for the Institute, I have variously received instructions to kill only when necessary, to kill all animals and lower creatures but subdue humans without killing them when possible, and to kill anything that moves. To what policy would you prefer I adhere on this mission?”

“That’s a really great question, X9-21,” I said, “and I really appreciate you asking. I would like you to try not to kill anyone.”

“Anyone at all?” X9 asked, sounding very faintly disbelieving. 

“Right,” I said. “Ideally. But if you assess the situation and decide it’s necessary to kill someone, to protect me or Hancock or yourself, or to protect someone else allied to us, or someone innocent and in need of protection, then you use your best judgment. I trust you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said X9-21. “Thank you for the clarification. And for your trust.”

“Thank you for being _completely amazing_ ,” I said. “And saving my life a bunch of times this last week. And subduing Richter for me, so we could have a conversation. And for-- oh, everything. And you, too, Hancock. Thanks for holding down the fort this last week. And thank you both for coming to Acadia with me, and putting up with my crazy life all the time--”

“Hold up,” said Hancock. “What’s going on here? Is this a suicide mission? Are you planning on getting martyred in the name of the Mother of the Fog? Because I will turn this caravan right back around, Nora. This is not gonna be the way I lose you, to a bunch of murderous cultists whose spooky mom got you on Radio Radiation Poisoning and asked you to babysit.”

“This is not a suicide mission,” I said, after I was more or less done laughing. “I’m just being sentimental in general, because I love you both so much. Although that reminds me, if I do get killed, you guys have to go ahead and establish that supply line up to Acadia. And someone’s got to get Jule to a doctor for her headaches-- Hancock, I was thinking Amari might be able to help? Or Alice Hastings, since she worked in Advanced Systems at the Institute? What do you think, X9?”

“These are your only concerns regarding the prospect of your death?” X9-21 asked. 

“They’re not my _only_ concerns,” I said, “but they’re the ones you guys can do something about.”

X9’s eyes narrowed. “I believe we can do something else about the prospect of your death, ma’am.” 

“Damn straight, X9-21,” said Hancock. “No need for deathbed promises when she’s got us along, yeah?”

“That’s correct, Hancock,” said X9-21, and held up his palm, and Hancock grinned, and smacked it.


	13. of acrobats and liars, paper moons in mackerel skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Tanya Donelly, "Story High"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFhNbGjzgE0>))

When we approached the Nucleus, I noticed, first, that the two guard towers that had been occupied by Children on my first visit were empty. Then I saw the open space in front of the door, where I’d watched someone get shot the first time I’d walked up here. There were four people standing around, three with guns in their hands, pointing them at-- I saw, my heart speeding up-- a man on his knees. 

“Hey!” I yelled. “What’s going on here?” 

As everyone turned to look at me, a phrase popped into my head from one of the Mary Poppins stories I’d been dredging up from my memory to tell X9: _Is this a decent nursery or the Zoological Gardens?_

_The Zoological Gardens, Michael longed to answer..._

One of the people holding a gun was Zealot Ware; the unarmed one was Brother Devin, and the man on his knees, I saw with a shock, was Richter. 

“It’s the Mother’s emissary!” Devin cried. “In the hour of our need, she’s returned to us! Sister, will you and your companions take up arms and fight with us?”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, “what part of _peace_ did you people not understand?”

Ware and the other two just looked bewildered, but Devin looked so crushed that I immediately felt terrible.

“Have I failed the Mother?” he asked in a small voice. “Was it her will I should lay down my life, in the name of peace?”

“Lay down your _life?”_ I stepped forward, into the circle of guns; Ware and one of the others immediately lowered theirs, although the other one kept his pointed at Richter. “No, brother. Forgive me-- I’m not sure what’s going on here. Why would you have needed to lay down your life? And why is the Grand Zealot on his knees?”

“Brother Devin--”

“The High Confessor--”

“Zealot Ware--”

Three people spoke at once, and then fell silent.

I stepped forward again, to Richter, and offered him my hand. He took it, and let me help him to his feet. The Zealot who hadn’t lowered his gun yet did so now, to my relief; if he’d cocked it, I was pretty sure X9-21 would have leaped into action, and I was starting to run low on stimpaks. 

“Sister,” said Richter, letting go of my hand, “if you keep rescuing me from your own agents, I’ll begin to suspect you of advanced psychological tactics.”

“These guys aren’t my agents,” I said, gesturing around.

Richter smiled faintly. “They might beg to differ.”

“We serve the Mother,” said Devin.

“What exactly is going on here?” I asked Richter.

“Zealot Ware has been instructed to execute Brother Devin for blasphemy and sedition,” Richter answered. 

_”What?”_

“Apparently, when I was dispatched to find you, Brother Devin spoke out quite-- forcefully-- on your behalf,” said Richter. “There’s been quite a Mother’s-peace movement in the Nucleus since your visit, and when the High Confessor pronounced you our enemy, he also declared your message heresy, to the-- disquiet-- of many of the Children.” 

“How can the Mother’s words be heresy?” Ware asked, his voice shaking. “How can peace be heresy? How can saving someone’s life be heresy?”

“It’s the High Confessor who blasphemes,” said one of the ones I didn’t know. “All our lives were spared by Atom’s grace, his gift, when others were taken. The Mother brought us here to live, not to die at the whim of a madman.”

Richter kept his eyes on me. “The High Confessor was obviously aware of the emotional bond between Brother Devin and Zealot Ware, and, therefore, ordered me to see that the Zealot carried his orders out, and to execute them both if he refused.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “He really is a madman.”

“I think he considered it a test of loyalty,” said Richter. “Of Zealot Ware’s, of course, and of mine as well, perhaps. Once we were outside the Nucleus, Zealot Ware drew his gun and ordered me to surrender my weapon and kneel. Zealot Gutenberg and Zealot Mercalli were on guard duty, and joined forces with Ware. I attempted to speak, and was ordered to be silent while they decided what to do next. That’s approximately when you arrived on the scene.”

“OK,” I said. “Now-- just checking-- if Ware hadn’t pulled a gun right away and told you to shut up, what were you going to do out here?”

“I had not yet formulated a workable plan,” said Richter. “I hoped Ware and Devin would help me do so. Many of the Children-- obviously-- are on our side, but I am not sure of all of them.”

“ _Our_ side?” repeated one of the ones I didn’t know. “You serve the High Confessor.”

“I serve Atom, Zealot,” said Richter. “I heed the messages-- and the messengers-- he sends. If the High Confessor does not, then I do not serve him. Had you allowed me to speak, I would have told you so from the beginning.”

“He’s lying,” said the one who hadn’t lowered his gun right away. “He’s telling us what we want to hear, to try to buy himself time. He’ll betray us all to the High Confessor if we let him live, and we’ll all be under sentence of death, and everyone who’s allied to us.”

Ware and the other Zealot looked irresolute. 

“He may be lying,” Ware said apologetically to me. “We have no way of knowing.”

“Oh, hold up,” I said suddenly. “Come here, son.”

“Look at that,” said Hancock. He and X9 had been silent up until now, watching, which I appreciated at the diplomatic stage. “Never a situation where you don’t come in handy, X9.”

“I was never actually trained to detect falsehood in humans, ma’am,” X9-21 said to me as he approached. 

“Whatever,” I said. “Like there’s such a huge difference. Even you guys can’t tell by looking. Look my son in the eye, Richter.”

Richter was a big guy, but when X9-21 stood right next to him, X9 was maybe an inch taller. I felt the same illogically competitive glee that I’d once experienced when the pediatrician told me Shaun was in the ninety-seventh percentile of weight for babies his age. 

“What is your name?” X9-21 asked Richter.

“Brian Richter,” said Richter.

“Are you currently armed?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

Richter smiled a little. “Yes.”

“Are you my mother’s ally?” 

Richter’s voice was steady. “Yes.”

“Are you planning on taking any action that would place her or her other allies in danger?”

“No,” said Richter.

“Is there any reason why Zealots Ware, Gutenberg, or Mercalli, or Brother Devin, should hesitate to trust you with their lives?”

“No,” said Richter again. 

X9-21 looked up at me. “If he is lying, he’s doing so skillfully enough that it’s beyond my ability to detect.”

I nodded. “And how likely do you think that is?”

“Not impossible,” said X9-21, “but-- I would say-- _extremely_ unlikely.”

“Good enough for me,” I said. “Welcome to Team Mother’s Peace, Richter. Now. Next question. If you had to guess what percentage of the Children are on our side, versus Tektus’, what would you say?”

“High enough that if it came to battle,” said Richter, “we would win.”

“But we don’t want it to come to battle.” I looked around. “Right, guys? Because of peace?”

“Right,” said Richter, as Devin nodded, and then Ware and the other two-- whose names X9 had apparently immediately committed to memory, but I’d already forgotten again-- nodded as well. 

“So what’s our plan?” I asked. 

Hancock added, “And how long do we have before somebody comes out here to see why nobody’s coming back inside with a smoking gun?”

“Zealot Mercalli fired her gun into the air when Zealot Ware first ordered me to my knees,” said Richter, gesturing towards the female Zealot.

“Good thinking, Zealot Mercalli,” I said. “That should buy us a little bit of time. But still. Hancock’s right-- we need to be quick. And I-- kind of have a plan? That no one’s going to like?”

“Oh good,” said Hancock. “Those are my favorites of all the plans you make.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It was a legitimately new experience for me to walk at gunpoint, with my hands up. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my face, especially since everything in me was crying out to reassure the stricken-faced Children we passed on our way to the Vessel. I didn’t dare wink at them, but I did smile, a bit. I couldn’t help it.

“Stop that,” said Richter in my ear. “You’re under arrest, and probably under sentence of death.”

I tried to straighten out my face, to look scared. X9-21, with Ware’s gun pointed at him, looked much as usual: serious, faintly grim. 

Inside the Vessel, as Richter had predicted, it was just Tektus and two others-- Sister Aubert, with whom I’d spoken briefly before, and Zealot Theil.

“On your knees,” said Tektus to me, and I knelt down on the hard, cold iron of the Vessel’s floor, looking up at Tektus. “You, too, stranger. You come here as the companion of this blasphemer? How loyal of you, to agree to share in her fate.”

X9-21 looked at me, and I nodded slightly; he knelt, straight-backed, beside me. Tektus began to circle us, like a shark, or a human weirdo. 

“What brings you back here, I wonder?” he asked. “The hope that you might be spared? That your blasphemies might have taken enough root among my Children that I would not dare execute you, for fear of public opinion? Or your belief that the Mother of the Fog-- that pitiful figment-- might move, somehow, to save you?”

“Tektus,” I said. 

Tektus narrowed his eyes, coming to a halt in front of us. _”High Confessor_.”

“High Confessor,” I said, obediently. “Before I die, will you hear me speak?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not? It might be-- amusing.”

“Oh, I always try to be amusing,” I said. “High Confessor, I was not granted Atom’s gift at birth, as you and the Grand Zealot were, and Atom’s other blessed children. But when the Grand Zealot told me to drink from the spring of water touched by Atom, I was willing to do so, even though I knew it would weaken and sicken me. And I believe that’s-- at least partly-- why I was chosen by the Mother, to bring her message to the Nucleus. Because I was willing to become weak, and suffer, in order to enter here and seek what I sought. And the Mother knew that she could use someone strong, who was willing to become weak, for the sake of those she loved.”

“You have well and truly become weak now,” said Tektus. “The Mother must be very pleased.”

“I think she is!” I said. “I really do. I think she sent me here-- partly-- for you, High Confessor. Because she saw that you had forgotten what it meant, to be strong, and be her child. She realized that your strength, which should have helped you protect your weaker brothers and sisters, and lead them and guide them, and look after them, and help them grow stronger and better-- that instead, your strength had become something you loved for its own sake, and loved to prove, even if it meant hurting those you should be helping.”

He laughed, an ugly, mirthless laugh, and my heart sank. Gwyneth had spoken of his _lust for death_ , and I could see that was true, that he loved seeing me on my knees and wanted to spin it out as long as possible. That he delighted in the deaths of others; that the executions he ordered weren’t just to solidify his political power, but because it fed something black and hungry inside him to know that others had died, and killed, on his orders. How could I help this man? I felt the same despair I had on the roof of the CIT building, looking at my elderly son, the twisted, loveless man he’d become, in all those years without a mother’s love.

I’d felt that despair over X9-21 once, too, though. And now he knelt silently at my side, a highly trained killing machine and my loving and beloved child, both at once. 

“High Confessor,” I said, gently, as gently as his own mother would have, if she’d been here. “No matter what’s become of us-- while we live, we can always, always do better. We can always be more.”

“Enough of your babbling,” he snapped suddenly, coldly, as if a trap had sprung shut. “Would you prefer to die here and now, or publicly, where all those who have mouthed the Mother’s name over the last week may see the light leave your eyes?”

I sighed.

“OK,” I said. “I tried my best. I really did. I’m sorry. Son--”

The speed with which X9-21 rose from his knees was ridiculous; he pushed off from the floor like a swimmer, as if gravity had nothing to do with his big, muscular body, and grabbed Tektus’ arm, jerking him backwards, wrapping one hard arm around Tektus’ chest, pinning his back against X9’s own chest, and gripping his jaw in the other hand. I recognized the stance, for my sins; I’d both seen it done, and done it myself. It was how you held someone immediately before snapping their neck.

Aubert gave a tiny shriek. Thiel gasped. Richter and Ware stood still. 

Then X9 released Tektus, who fell to his hands and knees beside me, half sobbing, still breathing.

“It’s not necessary to kill him, ma’am,” said X9-21 calmly. “He poses no threat.”

“Traitors,” Tektus choked out, looking around at Richter, Ware, Aubert, and Thiel. “You would all have let him kill me?”

They were all silent.

“You perfidious _bitch_ ,” Tektus spat at me. “You’ve turned my own people against me--”

“You haven’t been doing your job, High Confessor,” I said softly. “If you depend on loyalty, you have to earn it. Listen, Tektus, I’m really sorry, but this place isn’t your home anymore. It’s a home for the Mother’s children, and she can’t have someone here who’s going to be terrorizing and killing them, and making them enemies all over the place. You’re going to have to go find somewhere else to live. We’ll make the announcement. And, of course, anyone who wants to go with you is free to do so.” 

……………………………………………………………………………..

No one did, which both-- for the Children’s sake-- pleased me, and-- for Tektus’ sake-- grieved me. I put some supplies in the bag he packed from my own pack, and wished him luck out there; he gave me a death glare. On the way across the Nucleus’ paved courtyard (stage of however many executions over the years) he passed Hancock and Devin, sitting on the steps to one of the guard towers, and turned to give me one last burning, hateful look. I didn’t know how to look back at him, except sadly, which I did, because I was.


	14. surrendering a feat of unequalled measure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Alanis Morissette, "Surrendering"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SuIAnNC36g>))

“You realize you have to make a speech to the Children now,” said Richter, as we walked back inside the Nucleus with Hancock and Devin. People cried out softly at the sight of Devin, and he smiled at them.

“I already did,” I said. “Just now.”

“You made an announcement,” said Richter. “Not a speech. You must give shape and meaning to what has happened here today.”

I grimaced. “Can’t you do it? You’re the one they know. I don’t even know how you guys pick your leaders.”

“As the Grand Zealot,” said Richter, “I would naturally succeed to the High Confessor’s role, and I will speak as well. But you are the Mother’s emissary. You’re the one who started this-- this upheaval. You must speak first.”

“But--”

“He’s right, Nor,” said Hancock, and X9-21 nodded.

“OK,” I said resignedly. “Where do I stand?”

 

Mounting the-- pulpit-thing-- where the High Confessor stood for sermons, I wished Hancock could do this for me. He was the guy who’d made rousing speeches from the balcony of the Old State House in Goodneighbor that had people cheering and call-and-response yelling and chanting his name. Being the General of the Minutemen didn’t involve a whole lot of speechifying. But I’d made closing statements before, and that was basically what this was, right? 

_Ladies and gentlemen of the Nucleus…_

“Brothers and sisters,” I said, looking around at their faces, tentative, worried, hopeful. Oh, it was nothing like a courtroom. “God, I haven’t even met all of you yet. I’m Nora-- Sister Nora-- and I’m-- new here.” I hesitated, seeing smiles, furrowed brows, uncertainty. “You know that. And you know the Mother sent me here with a message for you. Which might seem weird, since I’m-- so new. I mean, you’ve all been-- believers-- longer than I have. You all know more about Atom, and about your home here, than I do. But sometimes it takes someone new-- someone who isn’t-- used to things-- being the way they are, to realize that this isn’t how they have to be. 

“So yeah, I kind of barged in here and kicked out your leader just now. None of you seem that broken up about it, but I know it was kind of-- presumptuous, of me? But like I said, sometimes it takes an outsider to see what needs to be done. And the Mother did ask me to-- to help you.

“But it’s not just about kicking Tektus out. I mean, Richter here says he’s next in line, and he seems like he’ll be a pretty decent leader, from what I can tell. He helped me kick Tektus out just now, and he’s convinced me-- and my son, who’s pretty good at telling when people are lying-- that he’s on your side, and the Mother’s side. For what that’s worth. But also for what it’s worth, if he-- if _anybody_ who might wind up in charge-- turns out to be a shitty leader, like Tektus, and starts-- hurting you guys, or terrorizing you-- then you don’t have to take it. Just because somebody is in charge doesn’t mean they should be, or they have to be, or you have to be obedient when they’re telling you to do things that you think-- that you know-- aren’t right.”

I caught X9-21’s eye, and he nodded at me briefly, and I broke into such a smile that several Children craned their necks to see who I was smiling at.

“That’s my son,” I said, in explanation. “He agrees with me. So listen, guys. You don’t have to put up with a bad leader. You don’t have to put up with anybody who’s hurting you, or scaring you. And you don’t have to worry that you’re not good enough, or your faith isn’t strong enough, or you’re having the wrong thoughts, or not getting enough visions, or getting too many visions, or any of that. Every single one of you is the blessed child of Atom. Having doubts, or thinking strange thoughts, or wishing things were different, or being scared, doesn’t change that a bit. I think that’s what the Mother wanted me to tell you all. To be at peace. Not just with your neighbors-- with Far Harbor, which by the way I’ve been talking to them and they’re feeling a lot less freaked out about you guys, and Richter or whoever should probably have a meeting with Captain Avery at some point, and talk friendship. But yeah, it’s not just about peace with Far Harbor, and with Acadia. It’s about peace here, with each other, and with yourselves. Because you know you’re loved. You know you’re Atom’s children, and the Mother’s children, and-- it’s all right. That kind of peace.”

I looked around. A lot of people were nodding. A couple were crying. I hoped it was because they were moved, and not because they were depressed about what a bad speaker they’d thrown their theological lot in with.

“I guess that’s all I have to say,” I said. “The Mother’s peace be with you all.”

I stepped down from the podium, and Richter stepped up to it in my place.

“I never aspired to hold the office of High Confessor,” he said, “and I hope I will do so only temporarily, until a more suitable leader can be found among us. But while I do hold it, I will lead and care for everyone in the Nucleus to the best of my ability. If you have any questions, I will answer them to the best of my ability as well. Thank you.”

He stepped down.

“I didn’t know the speech could be _that_ short,” I said to him, as the Children started going back about their business, except for a few who were coming towards us.

“Yours could not have been,” he answered. “My position is simpler. Yes, Zealot Thiel?”

“Did you find her?” Thiel asked me. She was tense; there were tears in her eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Yeah, I did. Well, my husband and son did.” I nodded towards Hancock and X9. “She’s OK. She’s fine. I think-- she’s probably going to be ready to come home, soon.”

Thiel looked at Richter.

“She will not be harmed,” he said. “I have seen and spoken with her already today. Once she hears of the former High Confessor’s departure, I think she will no longer be afraid to come home.”

“Sir,” said Thiel. “When I was sent to find her-- when I returned and reported that I could not find her--”

“You were lying,” said Richter. 

_”Sir?”_

“You are not an utter incompetent,” said Richter. “You and Gwyneth were friends. She was under sentence of death. Of course you lied. It won’t be necessary for you to do so in the future. Was there anything else, Zealot?”

………………………………………………………………………..

After answering a few other Children’s questions, and hugging Devin and Ware, and promising Mai those parts for her decon arch as soon as I got a chance, and promising Richter I’d be back soon, and that he could find me at Acadia if he needed to, we headed out. I was so tired-- the adrenaline of the day wearing off, exhaustion setting in-- that I found myself thinking that if we did get attacked, my husband and son would save me. For somebody who was used to being in charge of saving her own life-- with help, sure, but not counting on anybody’s _rescue_ \-- it was a weirdly restful thought. Not one I planned on getting used to having, or anything, but still.

We got home without incident, anyway, and I told DiMA and Nick and Gwyneth and whoever else happened to be standing around-- I was so tired by now I could hardly even remember their names-- what had gone down at the Nucleus (someone helped me off with my armor) and then asked if I could go to sleep. Someone said I could. Someone else-- Faraday, it was Faraday, the one who’d helped DiMA stay alive and sane up here, the one he called “dear”-- took my arm, and guided me towards the little storeroom where I, and then Gwyneth, had slept before. 

“Ms. Bowman,” said Faraday, in a tone that meant I wasn’t allowed to go to sleep quite yet.

“Oh, Faraday,” I said. “Please call me Nora. DiMA does.” I wished I could ask for more, ask for him-- for all of them-- to call me _mother_ , but I knew it was too much to ask, too soon. How long had it taken for Emily to trust me enough to tell me who she was, and claim her birthright? X9-21 still wasn’t calling me _mother_ on any kind of a regular basis, although _ma’am_ had almost started sounding like a variant. Father-Shaun had cheated on my behalf with his synth doppelganger, programmed in the _mom_ and the trust, both-- his last gift to me-- but it wasn’t ever going to be that easy again.

“Nora,” Faraday said obediently. He didn’t just seem shy, or awkward; he seemed downright nervous. “DiMA told me-- what you discovered, in his memory cache.”

I nodded. “Did you know?”

“No,” said Faraday. “But-- there’s something--” He swallowed. “DiMA encouraged me to, to tell you. He said-- it’s too late for Jane, but it might not be too late for Jule.”

“For Jule?”

“I did something--” He was pale. “I meant it to-- to help her.”

“What did you do?”

He told me. An accident, head trauma, a glitch; emergency mindwipe surgery, performed by Faraday, partly failed.

“OK,” I said. “OK, that’s good to know. Thank you, Faraday. Thank you for telling me. That’s going to be really helpful. We’re going to get her fixed, all right? It will be all right. But I have to-- sleep, right now, OK?”

“OK,” he said, but I had to keep my eyes open long enough to check his face-- he looked all right, he looked like he believed me, that it was going to be all right-- before I could lay my head down, and sleep.

…………………………………………………..

When I woke up, I felt rested, and fine. Good. Yesterday had gone reasonably well. I would’ve liked to talk Tektus down, but oh well, couldn’t win them all. The Nucleus was going to be all right, Far Harbor was going to be all right, Acadia was going to be all right; Gwyneth was going home, and Jule was coming to the doctor with me, once Faraday told her what had happened to her and I persuaded her that it wasn’t beyond fixing. Everything was on track. I’d be a little sad to leave, but it wasn’t like _leaving_ leaving; this place was on my list now, my regular round, and like anyplace I’d just added to my allied settlements, it was going straight to the top of my priority list. I’d leave, but I’d be back, soon and often, with supplies and schematics, weapons and armor. Flowers, for Aster, and peace of mind for Faraday, and a brother for DiMA, and a brother for Chase, too. Maybe I could bring Emily up here, now that I had a sense of how dangerous it was and what to warn her about and how fantastically X9-21 could defend her if necessary. Chase would like to see her again, I was sure, and the other synths might remember her, too, if only in passing, the way Max had. Maybe I could get Max up here too. Maybe even Shaun. I’d ask X9-21 how much of a mindfuck he thought that would be for the other synths. 

A soft knock came at the door of the little storeroom, and I fumbled for the doorknob for a second before just yelling, “Come in!”

Light flooded the doorway, and X9-21 flicked the lightswitch of the storeroom, looking down at me where I sat on the mattress, rubbing grit from my eyes. 

“Hi,” I said, smiling up at him. 

“Ma’am,” he said. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Nope,” I said. “I was just getting ready to get up.”

He nodded. “Then may I speak with you a moment?”

I smiled at him. “That better be a rhetorical question.” 

“It is,” he said, with his quick crooked smile, as he knelt down next to the mattress, on the floor of the storeroom. “Thank you.”

“What’s up?” I asked. 

“I have never apologized to you, for the way I behaved towards you when you first-- captured me,” he said. “For the things I said to you, and about you. For spitting at you. Would you like me to do so?”

I considered that for a moment. It was an interesting question-- fairly rhetorical, itself, since if he’d really wanted to apologize, he would have just apologized. Which told me--

“You don’t need to,” I answered. “I understood why you did all that. How you felt. I think I understand even better now, now that I know you better. I’m glad you don’t feel that way anymore, but you don’t have to apologize for how you felt then, or what you did about it.” 

“That is what I thought you would say,” he said. “And I thank you-- for your understanding, ma’am.”

“Sure, son,” I said. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to try to understand you.”

He regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, “I have learned to understand-- certain things-- better, as well. As I have interacted with you more. There are other mistakes I made, initially. For example, if you will forgive me for saying so, I considered it a foolish affectation of yours, to assign a name to Emily. As though you were pretending she was human. And when you asked me, after I returned to you, if I would like a name, I considered it an extension of the same pretense. I have never had any wish to pretend to be human, or to be mistaken for a human, or to be treated as a human.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I remember you said you couldn’t think of a name that would mean _you_ , the way your designation did. Because you’d accomplished a lot, as X9-21. You were proud of who you were.”

“I was, and am,” he said. “But I understand now that you are not pretending the synths under your care are human. That your-- emotional investment-- is not dependent on the illusion of humanity. Or-- on any illusion.”

I nodded again. “Well. That’s-- good. I’m glad you-- you believe that, now.”

“At creation I was designated X9-21,” he said. “And those who so designated me educated me, and trained me, and entrusted me with responsibilities, and honored me for achieving what they required. I am what they made of me, and I am not ashamed of that. But I am also-- more.” He paused for a second, and made eye contact with me. “And when you call me _X9-21_ , it has begun to seem-- less accurate-- than when you call me _son_.”

My heart was speeding up as I nodded yet again. 

“And,” he said, “since I am not your only son-- I think I would like-- a designation-- a _name_ \-- that means--” He hesitated again. “That means-- the person you mean, when you speak to me.”

“Oh,” I said, quietly, and he gave me the lightning-flash smile again. 

“Would you prefer to choose a name for me?” he asked. “As you did for Emily?”

“Emily chose her own, really,” I said, as steadily as I could. “She asked me what I would have named my human daughter, if I’d had one, and that’s what she wanted me to call her.”

“I see,” he said. “Well. I am not-- greatly familiar-- with the connotations of various human-style first names. But I recently learned a new one. Michael.”

“Michael?” Where had I just-- 

“The child from the story,” he said. “The brother of Jane. Would that be-- appropriate? May I have that as my name?”

I clambered over to him and put my arms around him, squeezing him as tight as I could.

“I take that as a yes,” he said, putting his arms around me, too, and hugging me, although not as tightly as he could. I’d come to realize, seeing him demonstrate his sheer strength on this trip, how easy he must always be going on me when we hugged, even when it felt like he was crushing me. Right now he wasn’t, though; he was just holding me close. He let me go after a moment, and I pulled back, blinking back tears. It would probably unnerve him to have me burst into a torrent of sobs right now.

“Michael,” I said instead, testing it out. “Michael, my son. My son Michael. Hey, you know what-- that’s the name of an avenging archangel, in the Bible. In an old-- sacred book. A warrior, who protects people, and fights the forces of evil.”

“That’s a bit more grandiose than I’d intended,” he said. 

“It’s not a bit more grandiose than you deserve,” I said. “Michael-- you know Hancock’s going to be calling you Mike.”

“Possibly,” said X9-21-- _Michael, Michael_ , it was going to take getting used to. “He does sometimes address you as ‘Nor.’ Although I have not heard him call Emily ‘Em.’”

“That’s true,” I said, struck; I’d never actually noticed that before, but it was true now that I thought about it, that Hancock never shortened Emily’s name. Was it because he knew how much the name meant to her? “You notice everything, don’t you, Michael?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Not everything. But I am observant, by training and by inclination, and often by necessity.” 

“Good thing I actually love you like crazy,” I said. “Imagine how shit out of luck I’d be if I were faking.”

He inclined his head. “As you say, ma’am.”

“Well,” I said, beaming at him. “Let’s go introduce you to everybody. Want to?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I do. Thank you. Let’s.”


	15. I'm gone through the glass again, just come and find me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([The National, "Graceless"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jpz_gUyImhw))
> 
> ([again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6715666/chapters/15444991) :P)

On our way to the stairs up to the main level, we met Hancock, who’d just come down them, and who put his arm around me. I settled into the crook of it, leaning on him, the familiar textures and shape of him.

“Hey,” I said to him. “You never came to bed last night.”

“Did,” he said. “Laid down while you were asleep, got up while you were still asleep. You were out like a light.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I like it when you sleep like that.”

“Oh, well, that’s flattering.”

He rolled his black eyes. “You know what I mean. X9 tell you whatever he needed to tell you?”

“It’s not X9 anymore,” I said, breaking into a grin. “That’s what he wanted to tell me. He picked a name.” 

“No kidding,” Hancock said. “So?”

Michael said, carefully, seriously, with the considered weight of a password, or an incantation, or a line of poetry, “My name is Michael.”

“Michael,” said Hancock thoughtfully. “Michael Bowman. Yeah. Sounds good. Mazel tov, Michael. It’s a big thing, picking the name out. Who you’re gonna be, from here on out.”

“Yes,” said Michael. “Thank you, Hancock.”

…………………………………………………………...

I made a little announcement, in the main room upstairs, to DiMA and Chase and Nick, and Gwyneth, and a few others who were nearby. DiMA was obviously pleased, and Chase went so far as to smile at Michael. I wished, unreasonably, that she would look at me next, smile at me, and then she did, briefly. I beamed back at her with the approximate brightness of a thousand suns.

“I like that,” said Nick. “Good solid name. That’ll last you.” 

The other synths probably just wondered why it had taken Michael so long to pick a name, but nobody asked; they just nodded, and went about their business.

Gwyneth came up to us, and said, “Congratulations, Michael.”

“Thank you, Gwyneth,” he said, which surprised me; I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him address a human by her first name. Of course, he presumably didn’t know Gwyneth’s last name, any more than I did, but I would have expected him to substitute “ma’am.” Maybe he’d collectively categorized the Children of Atom as too weird for the honorifics he usually used with humans. That couldn’t be it, though; if weirdness disqualified people, he’d never have even started calling _me_ “ma’am.”

I realized Gwyneth had just said something to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I spaced out for a second. What?” 

“I want to go home,” she said, almost apologetically. 

“Oh, of course you do,” I said, smiling at her. “We’ll take you. Now?”

“You don’t have to _take_ me,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I survived for-- a long time, by myself, out in the woods.”

“Yeah, and wouldn’t it be a kick in the teeth if you survived all that time just to get trapped by trappers or gulped by gulpers on your way home for good?” I patted her arm. “Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. Of course we’re going to take you. That’s what brethren are for.”

“I’d like to state for the record that I never actually joined the Children of Atom,” said Hancock.

“Brethren and brethren-in-law,” I said. “And, uh, nephews? In Atom’s holy fellowship?”

Gwyneth looked worried. “Were you planning on returning to the Nucleus so soon?”

“Sometime today,” I said. “I was going to check in at Far Harbor first, so I can either take you along there and then head straight to the Nucleus, or I can come back here after I go to Far Harbor and pick you up and take you to the Nucleus. Either way.”

“I will come with you to Far Harbor, if I may, sister,” she said. “If you don’t think they will-- resent my presence.”

“If they resent _your_ presence, there’s no hope for peace,” I said. “I actually think it might be good for them to see you. Meet you. Talk to you. Before we have our official sit-down. Richter’s great, but he’s a little scary until you get to know him. You’re just-- sweet. Good. And not too scary. As long as you don’t start talking about how fog condensers are blasphemy.”

“I won’t,” she said seriously. “I don’t believe they are.”

“If I may, ma’am,” said Michael. “It would be best if Gwyneth does not attempt to engage in any sort of conversation with Old Longfellow until I have had a chance to speak with him.”

“OK,” I said, looking at him curiously, but he didn’t elaborate. “Noted. Got that, Gwyneth?”

Gwyneth nodded. “Who’s Old Longfellow?”

“He is a citizen of Far Harbor,” said Michael, “who has been-- considerably wronged-- by Children of Atom, in the past. I believe to say more would be a violation, of his confidence. He will instinctively distrust you, Gwyneth, and the more so if you speak to him in the jargon of your faith. But if you will allow me to speak to him, ma’am, in private, I may be able to-- help, somewhat. To defuse the situation.”

“Of course, Michael,” I said. “God, Hancock’s right, there’s never a situation where you don’t come in handy. I can’t believe I let you just hang out at the Castle babysitting, all that time.”

“It was indulgent of you, ma’am,” he said. “But now that you have chosen to make use of my full skill set, I am very happy to have pleased you, and I hope I will continue to do so.”

I smiled at him. “Right back at ya.”

“Ma’am?”

“I hope you keep liking me, too,” I explained. “Approving of me. I’m always worried I’m going to do something to mess things up with you. Upset you, or offend you, or make you uncomfortable-- I mean, it’s kind of hard to read you sometimes, you know? You’re so-- circumspect? And I’m so-- whatever the opposite of circumspect is. Out-there.”

“Ardent,” said Michael. “Vehement. Audacious.”

I grinned. “I should’ve known you’d have adjectives for me.”

“He forgot ‘pig-headed,’” said Hancock. 

“Hey!”

“I would probably have said ‘obstinate,’” said Michael, “but you’re correct, Hancock, I did omit that one.”

“You’re such a bad influence,” I said to Hancock. “He never used to be this sassy. You taught Emily and Shaun to be sassy too, don’t act like you didn’t.”

“If you will pardon the contradiction, ma’am,” said Michael, “I believe Emily, Shaun, and I all learned sassiness primarily from you.”

………………………………………………………………………………..

While Hancock and Michael sorted out our packs, weapons, and ammo for the day-- and, presumably, discussed my character flaws and all the quips they were planning on trading later at my expense-- I went off to find Faraday. He was fiddling around with his terminal, and looked up, when I approached, with obvious trepidation.

“Did you say anything to Jule?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know-- what to say. She’s going to be furious.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, not unsympathetically. “But the least you owe her is the truth, Faraday.”

“I know,” he said. “And of course she has the right to be angry. But what if I say the wrong thing, and make it even worse? What if she’s so angry she just-- storms out? Runs out into the forest and gets-- savaged-- by ghouls, or trappers, or--”

“You want me to be the one to tell her?”

His relief was palpable. “Would you?”

………………………………………………………..

When I found Jule and asked if we could talk, she looked suspicious and hostile and pale and sweaty, the way she usually did, and who could blame her. She did let me sit her down on a box, while I sat down cross-legged on the floor nearby (if I didn’t do anything else before heading back to the Commonwealth, I was going to get some decent sitting areas set up around here. Even the Institute had had couches, although synths, apart from Eve, probably hadn’t been allowed on them) and told her, as gently as I could, what Faraday had told me last night.

She listened with her arms folded, scowling more and more as I spoke. 

“That _bastard,”_ she said, when I was done. “I can’t believe he did that to me.”

“Yeah, it was pretty shitty of him,” I said, and she looked at me suspiciously, as if she hadn’t expected me to agree. I did, though, and even if I hoped she’d eventually be able to forgive Faraday, it seemed a little soon to start pushing for it. “Not so much the emergency surgery, because I think he really was trying to help, but hiding it from you afterwards, when it was obvious it had fucked you up. The good news is, now that he’s fessed up, it’s within the realm of possibility that we might be able to figure out how to fix it. I know this neurosurgeon in the Commonwealth-- her name is Amari, Dr. Amari, and she does memory modifications for synths who ask for them, for whatever reason.”

“Are you kidding?” she asked, not happily. “I’ve already had somebody messing with my head and-- taking things. The last thing I want is to have somebody overwriting what I’ve got left.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know exactly what she could do for you, because I’m not a neurosurgeon specializing in synth brains. I was kind of hoping you’d come back to the Commonwealth with me, though, so she could just-- take a look, and tell us what the options might be. I guess the hope would be that she could-- restore some stuff? But if not that, then I was hoping maybe she could at least do something about the pain you’re in.”

“Why do you care if I get headaches?” Jule demanded brusquely. “I don’t get you, lady. Is it true what Chase said, that you’re Father’s mother? And you think that makes you _our_ mother?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering what exactly Chase had said, and what exactly Michael had said to her.

“Because that’s just ridiculous,” said Jule. “Even I know that’s not how DNA works. Or the synth creation process. That’s just as dumb as _him_ making everybody call him Father. It’s even dumber. At least he didn’t actually claim to be our father.”

“Nobody has to call me anything they don’t want to call me,” I said, resisting the urge to beam at her, for not taking any shit, for talking so tough. I’d always had a hunch this would be how Glory would respond, too, if I confessed that I thought of her as a daughter-- her skepticism would have been friendlier, since we were friends, but I’d pictured a doubled-over, thigh-slapping laugh at my sentimentality, a hoarse “You gotta be kidding me, Bullseye! Just because they figured out how to make that synthetic goop they grew me in from poking your kid for tissue samples? What, you want me to call you _mama?”_

My heart ached. I wished, I wished, I’d had time before she died, to tell her, if only just to hear her laugh at me.

Jule wasn’t laughing, though. She was glaring, arms still crossed defensively against her chest. 

“Look,” I said, trying to sound dispassionate. “You don’t have to come with me to the doctor if you don’t want to. It’s up to you. But I don’t see what it could hurt, just to let her take a look and tell us what might be possible. There’s no reason for you to be in pain, not if there’s a way to fix it without you losing anything else important. Why not just-- find out?”

She glared. “And you care because? Because you think you’re my _mother?”_

“I mean-- even if it was just because you’re a person, and you’re in pain you don’t deserve, it’s still true,” I said. “But yeah, I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t bother me extra because I see you as my child.”

“But that’s _crazy!”_

“So?” I said. “It’s no skin off your ass, is it, if I’m crazy? I could think I’m Glinda the Good Witch and you’re one of my Quadlings and that’s why it’s my job to try to get your headaches cured. That doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea to try to get your headaches cured, or that I can’t help you, if you ignore the fact that I’ve got this one wacky delusion. You don’t have to call me _mother_. You can call me Nora, or Bowman, or nutcase, as in, hey nutcase, what time does the boat leave for the Commonwealth?”

“Boat?”

She said it softly. The hostility was gone, suddenly, from her manner; so was the assurance. She sounded lost, and frightened.

“Yeah,” I said, realizing. The boat crash, right. “Yeah, you’re going to have to go on a boat, to get to the Commonwealth.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I-- can’t.”

I started to protest-- _sure you can, buck up_ \-- then bit down and considered.

“OK,” I said finally. “What if I bring someone up here to look at you? Would that be OK?”

“You’re going to _bring a doctor from the Commonwealth_ to _look at my head?_ ”

“Jule,” I said, “I blew up the entire Institute. I killed my own son. I brought down a military airship because the Brotherhood of Steel wouldn’t stop killing synths. Yeah, I’ll bring you a doctor from the Commonwealth. And if she checks you out and tells me that the only cure for what ails you is a serum extracted from the ink sac of a horribly mutated blue-ringed octopus the size of the Chrysler building that lives in the irradiated wreckage of the Great Barrier Reef, I’ll swim to Australia and kill the fucking octopus. OK?”

“I don’t know what any of that means after ‘serum,’” she said, but she was almost smiling. 

“It means I’ll do just about anything for you, Jule,” I said. “That’s the kind of crazy you’re dealing with. If I were you, I’d take advantage.”

She nodded, thoughtfully.

“If you bring a doctor here,” she said, “I guess I’d be OK with letting her examine me. Just to see.”

“Awesome,” I said. “Oh! What if I bring an Institute scientist up here?”

She stared. “I thought you blew up the Institute.”

“Some people got out, beforehand,” I said. “All the synths, some of the scientists. But I gather a lot of the scientists are kind of-- struggling, on the surface. You know. To survive.”

“Good,” said Jule viciously, and I smiled at her a little, acknowledging, and wondering how Max and the Institute three were getting along. Max didn’t seem like the type-- and he definitely didn’t seem confident enough of his position at the Castle yet-- to start any fights, but things were bound to be a little tense.

“So a few of them came to me for shelter,” I explained to Jule. “Well, X-- Michael brought them to me. He’d been looking after them, protecting them and getting them food and stuff. I guess he still felt sort of responsible for them.”

Jule nodded. “Yeah, I guess the coursers got brainwashed the worst. Chase’s told me a little bit about their training. So you’ve got a pet Institute scientist you want to have fiddle with my brain? Great. Just like old times.”

“I don’t think she’d do anything to-- harm you,” I said. “But it’s up to you. If you don’t feel comfortable, I won’t bring her here.”

“What the hell,” said Jule, and did smile, suddenly. “Let her come. I'd like to see her stupid face, when she sees this place. And all of us.”

“OK,” I said. “I’ll clear it with DiMA and the others, too, before I actually bring anybody here, but it’s good to know you’re OK with it.”

I scrambled to my feet; she didn’t move to help me.

“Thanks, Jule,” I said. “For hearing me out. For agreeing to this.”

She had one hand on the back of her neck, rubbing restlessly, but she gave me a thumbs up with the other. 

“Sure, Glinda,” she said. “Good talk.”


	16. home is where I want to be, pick me up and turn me 'round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Shawn Colvin, "This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=au0hYK517bI)

We were just about ready to go when I heard a commotion from the foyer, Faraday’s voice raised, DiMA’s quiet and soothing. I hesitated, but we’d been on our way into that room anyway-- we’d have to get by them to leave-- so I just walked on in, followed by Hancock, Michael and Gwyneth.

Nick was already in there-- he’d been hanging around DiMA a lot lately, it seemed-- and all three of them turned to us when we came in.

“Ah, there you are, Nora,” said DiMA. “I’ve been thinking about it, and-- I think I should accompany you to Far Harbor. I think it’s my responsibility to tell the citizens there the truth, and allow them to decide my fate.”

“Uh,” I said, “what?”

“This is _your_ fault,” Faraday said to me, his face flushed. “Barging in here, digging up what should have stayed buried, making him feel guilty--”

“Faraday,” said DiMA, “don’t be unreasonable. You know I asked her to retrieve those memories. And what she found was my fault, no one else’s.”

“I don’t think this is necessary, DiMA,” I said.

He bowed his head. “I’ve given it a great deal of thought. I wouldn’t do it if I believe it would put Acadia in danger, but-- I know you and your family, and Nick, will protect this place, if it becomes necessary. And-- justice should be served. The truth should be told. It’s not too late for me to-- do the right thing.”

“So you’ve done something horrible!” I was pretty sure Faraday had actual tears in his eyes. “So who hasn’t? How come _you’re_ the one who gets to be this big sad martyr walking into town to face up to your sins, instead of just _getting on with life_ like the rest of us-- you don’t see _her_ \--” he jerked a thumb at me-- “volunteering to get murdered because she murdered a bunch of people--”

“Faraday!” DiMA sounded horrified.

“--but you don’t even care if you die, do you, it’s all about _your_ guilt, _your_ atonement, you don’t care what it would mean to us, to Acadia, to _me_ \--”

“Faraday.” DiMA stepped forward, reaching out a hand, but Faraday jerked back, turning away. “Of course I care. But even if it does come to that, even if that’s the price I must pay-- you would be fine without me, all of you. Especially now that our friends from the mainland are making all these plans, to help look after you and defend you-- what am I needed here for? I’ve done-- enough.”

“You--” Faraday turned back towards him. “You think I’m talking about who’s going to _defend_ us?”

“And care for you,” said DiMA, with his gentle smile. “You’ve been-- all the family I’ve known, all of you, since I left the Institute-- until now. But you’re each other’s family, now, and Ms. Bowman’s, too. If anything ever happens to me, you won’t be-- orphaned.”

Faraday rolled his eyes all the way up to the ceiling, his tears spilling over a little. “You think that’s what I’m worried about? I’m worried because I need a _dad_? I need _you,_ jackass. _I_ need you. Not Acadia, not the ‘family,’ _I, I_ need you.”

“Faraday?” DiMA’s voice was tentative; he stepped forward again, and put a hand carefully on Faraday’s shoulder. Faraday looked up at him, eyes wet, lips slightly parted.

“Well, kiss him, you fool,” said Nick.

DiMA looked up sharply at Nick as Faraday gave a little exhalation, of laughter or exasperation, and then turned back to Faraday. “You don’t mean that, of course, Faraday--”

He broke off as Faraday put his arms carefully around DiMA’s neck and kissed him on his tattered grey lips. It wasn’t a very long kiss, but it was thorough.

“There,” he said, when he pulled away. “I never figured on doing it with a bunch of strangers standing around staring, but I guess it’s now or never. At least I did it, at least I did it _once_ before you went and got your stupid clockwork ass murdered for no goddamn reason.”

“Faraday,” said DiMA, and although I wasn’t sure if it was clinically likely, he sounded breathless. “My dear-- I’m old, I’m tired, I suppose I thought-- now that my brother and I have reconciled-- now that Acadia has another protector and provider-- I thought-- but if it will grieve you, if you have--” He hesitated. “If you have-- other ideas-- about the future-- if you want--”

“If I _want?”_

Faraday sounded incredulous. 

“So, um,” I said. “I think we’re going to get moving. See you later, yeah? We should be home before nightfall.”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “You guys have fun in Far Harbor. I’m gonna go downstairs and run some diagnostics.”

We left Faraday and DiMA staring at each other like moonstruck teenagers beside the flashing databanks, and emerged into the pale, foggy sunlight of the island. 

We walked in silence all the way into the trees before Hancock said, “Huh,” and I burst out into slightly hysterical giggles. 

“Right?” I said. “I mean, did anybody see that coming? Hancock, Gwyneth, you’ve both spent more time here than Michael and I have. Did you notice anything?”

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” said Hancock. “But I didn’t know it was like _that_.”

“I could see they loved each other,” Gwyneth offered, “but I didn’t realize robots kissed.”

I giggled again. “I don’t think DiMA realized either. His _face_ \-- and Nick-- oh my God, Hancock, do you think Nick just hasn’t _realized_ all this time that Ellie’s got a crush on him? Do you think he’ll realize now?”

“Don’t you go matchmaking,” said Hancock. “We’ve got enough on our plates right now. And we should be keeping an eye out.”

There was a pause.

“I have a question regarding anatomical compatibility,” said Michael, and the rest of us started laughing so hard that he finally smiled, too.

………………………………………………………………….

 

I hadn’t thought I was going to get much more controversial in Far Harbor, having first arrived there with my ghoul husband, my prototype synth detective friend, and my ex-courser son, but arriving with Hancock and Michael _plus_ a robed Child of Atom did seem to be pushing their envelope a little. But I smiled brilliantly at every Far Harborovian we passed, Gwyneth’s hand tightening on mine, and most of them smiled back.

“It’s all right, sister,” I said softly to her. “We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“It’s not that,” she answered, but she didn’t elaborate.

Someone must have alerted Captain Avery we were in town, because she came to us in the middle of the city, raising her eyebrows at Gwyneth.

I told her my news quickly, still holding Gwyneth’s hand: that there had been a semi-diplomatic coup at the Nucleus, and that Richter was the new High Confessor. She raised her eyebrows again.

“I take it you had something to do with that,” she said.

I grimaced. “Uh, maybe a little. Me and my family. But it was long overdue. Tektus was a shit-stirrer. Richter is going to be a lot easier to deal with. Not that he’s a pushover-- you guys are going to have to hold up your end of any deals you make-- but that’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“I certainly hope not,” she said lightly. “Otherwise I might find myself replaced, too.”

Which felt like she’d punched me directly in the heart, bypassing my ribs, and I missed a few moments. When the blinding pain passed, though, it didn’t seem like she’d noticed anything. I’d accidentally let go of Gwyneth’s hand, and Hancock was standing closer to me than he had been, his hand at the small of my back, solid and warm and reassuring. Jane was saying something. Captain Avery. Something about a town meeting.

I nodded. She had a little squared-off bell, with a deeper, mellower tone than the bells I had at my settlements. They started to assemble: Cassie, Brooks, Allen Lee, the Mariner, Mitch, Small Bertha, the doctor, the formerly-almost-dead-guy I’d shot up with the serum-- Andre, that was his name-- Old Longfellow, and everybody else I didn’t even know by name.

“What’s _she_ doing here?” Allen Lee demanded bluntly, looking at Gwyneth, who shrank a little closer to me. Allen looked slightly embarrassed, as if he’d kicked out viciously at a molerat and then suddenly realized it was actually a cute puppy, and everyone he knew had been watching.

“She’s with me,” I answered. “But that’s partly what I want to talk about with you guys today. There’s a new High Confessor in town-- and, Captain Avery, you probably want to have a sit-down with him at some point, but I’m about to head back to the Nucleus to take this one home, and I’ll be seeing him anyway. I’d like to tell him that if the Children of Atom agree not to mess with your fog condensers, or otherwise put you in danger, then you agree to take them at their word. Fog condensers break, you don’t assume it’s the Children of Atom unless you actually see them with a ball-peen hammer yelling about blasphemy. And if you _do_ see that, you still don’t kill them-- you get in touch with the Nucleus, let them know your concerns, and let the High Confessor deal with his own people. Does that sound do-able? Can I promise him that?”

I looked around. Most people were nodding. I made eye contact with the ones who weren’t-- just two, Allen Lee and somebody I didn’t know-- and both of them, when I fixed them with a direct stare, grimaced and nodded too.

“Great,” I said. “All right, guys, I’m going to take that message back to the Nucleus. Anything else you need me to communicate to them?”

“All we ask of them is that they don’t threaten or attack us, or disable our defenses,” said the doctor.

“Very reasonable,” I said. “Right, Gwyneth?”

She nodded seriously. “Yes, sister. We, who bask daily in the light of Atom’s glow, should show compassion towards those who fear and flee from his touch. This is why the Mother has guided us to gather together at the Nucleus of our faith, on this blessed island.”

Old Longfellow turned, abruptly, and walked away from the gathering. Michael looked at me, making sure he caught my eye, and with his eyes still on me, turned and moved as if to follow him. I nodded, and he turned the rest of the way, walking after Old Longfellow, quickly and quietly, and caught up to him, and put a hand-- to my surprise-- on his arm. (Had I ever seen him touch a human, other than an enemy combatant, uninvited? Me, when I stumbled, the other night, and he caught me to steady me.) Old Longfellow stopped walking and turned to him, and Michael said something quiet to him, something that made Old Longfellow scowl as he answered, but without shaking Michael’s hand off his arm. 

“So yeah,” I said, pulling my attention back to the gathering. “The other thing I wanted to talk to you all about was a supply line.” I explained briefly what I meant. 

“Like a caravan?” somebody asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Like a caravan. A regularly scheduled caravan. It’ll come through here, you can make whatever trades and purchases you want, then it’ll head out to Acadia, then back through here on the way to the Commonwealth. You can send messages to Acadia that way too, and trade with them. And if there’s anything you need badly, you can let the provisioner know, and they’ll try to make sure you get it, even if you don’t have much to trade at the moment. I’m gonna talk to Richter-- the new High Confessor at the Nucleus-- about whether that’s something he’s interested in, too. Either way, sounds good to everybody?”

“Could the supply line be extended to our new settlements across the island?” Small Bertha asked, in her clear, assured voice, so startling in someone so young.

“Absolutely,” I said. “That’s a really good point, Bertha. Yes, I’ll arrange for that, too.”

Small Bertha nodded.

“I move a vote of thanks to Ms. Bowman,” she said, raising her voice slightly, “for all she’s done for us, and for all she’s offering to do in the future.”

“Seconded,” said three voices at once-- Cassie Dalton’s, and the Mariner’s, and the doctor’s. 

“Thank you, Bertha,” said Captain Avery. “The town of Far Harbor thanks you, Ms. Bowman. And your son.” She looked around and saw Michael and Old Longfellow still talking, so absorbedly neither of them looked up. “Well, pass our thanks along to him, will you?”

“Michael,” I called, and he looked up quickly, a sudden flush across his cheekbones, at the sound of his name. “The town wants to thank us. You and me. For everything we’ve done for them.”

He hesitated, and I saw he didn’t know how to respond. 

“Would I be correct if I told them it was our pleasure?” I asked him, and he smiled slightly, and said, “Yes, ma’am, you would.”

“It was our pleasure,” I said, turning back to the gathering. “You guys have been great. Thanks for circling up. We’re going to head out now.”

“You’ve been-- quite a surprise, Ms. Bowman,” said Captain Avery, as the crowd began to disperse. “Frankly, I hope this isn’t the last we see of you.”

I smiled at her. “Oh, not by a long shot! I’ll be back here again before I leave, to grab the boat back to the Commonwealth, and then, after that-- well, I’ll be back before you know it. Gotta keep an eye on all my new friends here.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Oh revore.”

My puzzlement must have shown on my face.

“Oh,” she said, laughing a little. “Just that story, again. I keep thinking about it-- trying to remember where I heard it-- anyway, when she leaves, she leaves a note that says ‘oh revore’ so that the children she cares for knows she’ll be coming back. It means ‘we’ll meet again.’”

_Au revoir._ A child’s mispronunciation.

“Can I have a hug?” I asked abruptly, and she looked startled for a second, and then smiled, and said, “Of course,” and let me take her in my arms, not for too long, just for long enough to feel the shape of her body, pressed against me.

………………………………………………………………

As we approached the paved courtyard of the Nucleus, the door opened and Richter himself came out, and Gwyneth lowered her head. I smiled at him, and he smiled back slightly; he came right up to us, close enough to reach out and touch Gwyneth’s face, gently turning it upward.

“Welcome home, sister,” he said to her. 

“Thank you,” she said. “High Confessor.”

“Go inside,” he said. “You must be tired, and all your brothers and sisters are eager to see you again.”

Gwyneth turned and put her arms around me, and I hugged her tightly.

“Thank you,” she said to me, and then turned to Hancock and Michael. “And you. Both of you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” said Hancock, and Michael nodded. 

Gwyneth looked at me again. “Will I see you again?”

“Yep,” I said. “Count on it.”

She nodded, smiled at me, and turned to go inside, without looking back. 

“Got a couple of proposals for you,” I told Richter.

I’d been a little worried he’d be too proud to accept the idea of the supply line, but he seemed pretty happy about it, and he didn’t have any problem with what Far Harbor had agreed to, either. 

“Will the provisioner report directly back to you?” he asked. “Will they be able to convey messages to you?”

“Yeah, they can get me messages,” I said, and he nodded.

“Well,” he said. “Would you like to come back inside?”

I shook my head. “We should be getting going. I want to get back to Acadia before nightfall. Thanks anyway.”

“I hope you have a safe journey back to the Commonwealth,” he said, “and I will look forward to seeing you again, when you visit.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling at him. “I’ll look forward to it, too. Thank you for everything. And-- sorry.”

“You have very little to be sorry for,” he said. “Goodbye, sister. May Atom guide your path. And may the Mother’s peace be with you.”

…………………………………………………………………………………..

We did make it back to Acadia before nightfall. Faraday and DiMA were nowhere to be seen, although I also didn’t look very hard, especially when Nick winked when I asked. We ate a quick dinner before Hancock and I dragged ourselves off to bed, 

“We going home tomorrow?” he asked in the dark, curled around me from behind me, breath warm on my neck. 

“You ready?”

“Whenever you are,” said Hancock. “Not that this hasn’t been an extremely-- educational-- trip. And not that I’m not happy to get dragged all over creation, as long as it’s you doing the dragging.”

I smiled into the rolled-up spare clothes we were using for a pillow. Pillows, I needed to have the provisioner bring some pillows up here. “Why, Mr. Mayor.”

“But your work here’s done, right?” he said. “For now. And we should probably get out of here before Atom notices I’m here and starts driving me mad.”

“If Atom does that,” I said, “he’s going to have a serious problem.”

“You gonna fight Atom?”

“Goddamn right,” I said. “And win, too. Michael will help me.”

“He’s something else, huh?” said Hancock, and yawned. “Who ever would have thought.”

“Emily,” I said. “She thought. She hoped. She made it happen. Her and Shaun.”

“And you,” said Hancock. “Did good.”

Soon after that, his breathing and weight shifted in the way that told me he’d fallen asleep. I lay awake a little longer, thinking about leaving tomorrow. Nick leaving DiMA, his long-lost, newfound brother; Michael leaving Chase, his sister. Me leaving everyone, all the sons and daughters I’d hardly even met yet. I’d be back, of course-- I had to bring Jule a doctor, and I’d have to check and make sure the provisioner made it everywhere they were supposed to, and help set up everything we’d have supplies for here once the the provisioner did make it-- defenses, proper furniture, that new water pump-- and keep an eye on the fragile new peace here, and get to know everyone. It would take time, and I’d give it all the time and patience it needed. But my heart did leap up at the words _going home tomorrow_. The thought of getting on that boat, then stepping back off it at the Nakanos’ homestead, of Emily running to meet me, flinging herself into my arms. Getting back to Diamond City, picking Shaun up, seeing how school was going. Back to the Castle, letting Max know how happy I was to see him again, checking in on the scientists and the baby, the Minutemen and home. Introducing everyone to Michael.

The problem with having so many bits of family around was that no one place was completely _home_. The nice part was that so many places were, a little bit. Home.

"Tomorrow," I said sleepily, and Hancock stirred and murmured, and we fell back to sleep together.


	17. and I know I never say it, cause it's never like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Say Hi, "Trees Are A Swayin'"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8bMqE3okz0))

The next morning, all the synths assembled in the foyer to see us off. I wished I could hug everybody, but I didn’t know them well enough, yet. Not any of them, except DiMA, who I did hug. I shook hands with all of them instead. They all let me.

Chase and Michael hugged goodbye, a little awkwardly, and then Michael took the pirate’s hat off his own head and put it on Chase’s. She looked at him quizzically.

“To remember me by,” he said. “Until I see you again.”

She gave him a tiny smile, and nodded. “Thank you, Michael.”

DiMA and Nick hugged too.

“Come back soon,” DiMA said to Nick, who nodded, and said, “You can’t have my fedora. It wouldn’t even fit on that noggin of yours.”

DiMA laughed. “Fair enough.”

“We’ll all be back soon,” I said. “We’ll be visiting here until you all get sick of us. And any of you guys can always come visit us, too. Anytime at all, OK? But we really should get going.”

We were outside the junk fence, heading into the woods, when I heard footsteps behind us, and Jule came running through the gate, closely followed by Cog. She halted when she came up to us, and so did he.

“This is none of your business,” she said to him, and to me, “I’m coming with you. OK? You asked me to, I’m gonna. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” I said, “but-- you said--”

“I know what I said,” she said. “But I’ve been thinking about it, and if there’s anything that sounds worse to me than getting back on a fucking boat, it’s staying here with fucking Faraday sad-mouthing around me half the time and sucking face with DiMA the other half.”

“Jule--” said Cog.

She turned to him. “Sorry, Cog. I just-- I gotta get out of here. It’s not you-- you’re the only one I can even halfway stand, you know that-- but-- I gotta go.”

He nodded. “Then I’m coming, too.”

“What?” she said, staring at him. “Why?”

“You’re my best friend,” he said.

Jule said, “Well, that’s depressing.”

He snorted. “Not as depressing as it’s gonna be here without you.”

Jule glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Cog. You can’t leave-- everything here-- everybody-- go off with these lunatics--” She jerked her head sideways in the general direction of me. “I mean, Glinda here thinks she’s gonna get me repaired or some shit. What if her doctors get in my head and-- I mean, I might be a completely different person. I might not even remember you.”

“Then I’ll be there to meet the new you,” he said. “Or the old you, whatever.” He smiled a bit. “Tell her about you. The one I know.”

Jule’s lips parted, as if to speak, and then just hung slightly open, staring at Cog.

“I don’t get it,” she said finally, but in a smaller, less angry voice than I’d heard yet from her.

“Sure you do,” he said. “You’re not dumb, just because your head’s all fucked up. Come on, let me come along. You need somebody that knows you along for this. I don’t want you-- going off with strangers-- that don’t know you, that just want to-- fix you, or whatever. I don’t want you getting-- fixed-- out of existence. Let me come along, and-- just-- remind you. OK, kid? Jule? Please.” 

She looked at him for a second, and then she said, “Fine. Come. See if I care.”

He grinned. “OK.” He looked at me, for the first time since he’d caught up with us. “That OK? Ms. Bowman?”

“Nora,” I said. “Of course. Of _course_. But is there anything either of you needs to-- get? Pack?”

“Not me,” said Jule. “You’re gonna feed us, right? You’re our long-lost imaginary mom, it’s the least you can do.”

“Yeah, food and water aren’t going to be a problem,” I said, starting to smile. “But-- personal stuff? Clothes? Sentimental possessions?”

She shook her head. Cog looked hesitant.

“There’s a book,” he said, “but if I go back in there DiMA’s just going to try to guilt me into staying. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll go,” said Michael. “Where is the book?”

“Uh, on a table behind the counter where I keep stuff to trade,” said Cog. “But, uh, you don’t have to--”

Michael was already heading back towards the fence.

“You know,” said Cog, watching him disappear through the gate, “Chase told me he used to be kind of a dick.”

“He’s only a dick to his ideological enemies,” I said. “And his ideology’s shifted a bit since the last time Chase saw him. Listen, guys, not that you’re not incredibly welcome to come with us, but are you sure this isn’t just-- an impulse? Are you going to regret it halfway to the Commonwealth?”

“If halfway to the Commonwealth is going to be on a boat,” said Jule, “then definitely yes. But whatever. When I start screaming and flailing and puking and trying to jump overboard and swim back to Acadia, X9-21 can just pin me down till I pass out from panic overlaod, and then by the time I wake up we’ll be on dry land again, right?”

“Michael,” I said. “Not X9-21. I’m serious, Jule.”

“So am I,” said Jule. 

Hancock said, “Hey, Nora. Remind me what you told me when you said you were going to drink from the atomic death spring?”

“That was-- OK, maybe it wasn’t that different,” I said. “Well-- OK, fine. It’s your choice. Both of you. And I’m-- I mean, I know neither of you are doing this to make _me_ happy, but-- I’m really happy to have you both along for the ride.”

“Sure,” said Jule.

There was a brief silence, and then Cog said to Jule, “Dare you to ask her.”

She scowled. “Cog, now is not the time.”

“Double-dog-dare you.”

“We’re about to get on a boat with these--”

“Chicken,” said Cog. “Bawk-bawk-bawk.”

Jule squinted at him. 

“Fine, then I’ll ask her,” said Cog, and looked at me. “Did you ever fuck a synth by accident? And if so, how awkward was it when you realized?”

I feigned shock and horror. “What? That’s an incredibly personal, how dare you, I’m appalled you would ask such a--” I grinned and winked at Cog, who was starting to look worried. “No, I’ve been really busy, I actually haven’t fucked anybody since 2077, except Hancock.”

Hancock silently punched the air.

“Goddammit,” said Jule. “You just lost me twenty caps, Glinda.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Still coming with me?”

“Yeah, I’m still coming,” she said. “But can I borrow twenty caps?”

I laughed, just as Michael came back, carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a hard-shelled case of some kind in the other.

“These are items identified as Jule’s and Cog’s possessions,” he said, hefting the duffel bag, “including the book Cog mentioned, and this--” he lifted the case slightly-- “according to Faraday, contains data that might be of use to anyone attempting to repair the damage done to Jule’s brain. He also asked that I convey his apologies to Jule. Shall we get moving?”

…………………………………………………………

Jule’s post-traumatic reaction on the boat was less dramatic than she’d predicted. She didn’t scream or flail; she got very quiet, and very pale, and curled up on the deck, and put her hands over her eyes, like a little girl playing hide-and-seek. When Cog got down next to her and put his arm around her, she took her hands from her eyes, buried her eyes against his shoulder instead, and said something too quiet for me to hear. He pulled her closer and kissed her on the side of the head, and looked up at me helplessly.

“It’s OK,” he said. “We’ll be there soon. It’s safe. Jule?”

“Don’t talk to me,” she said, muffled. 

I sat down next to them, and then Hancock sat down next to me. We were all quiet until Jule said, against Cog’s neck, “Well, somebody say _something--”_

“So a ghoul walks into a bar,” Hancock said conversationally. “Bartender says, ‘We don’t serve ghouls here.’ Ghoul says, ‘That’s fine. Is the human fresh?’”

Cog laughed.

“This is why I take you new places,” I said to Hancock. “So you’ll have new audiences who haven’t heard all your jokes one million times. Speaking of which, a piece of string walks into a bar.”

“Not that one again,” said Nick, pausing next to us, but without sitting down. 

“Shut up,” I said. “They haven’t heard it. Bartender says, ‘We don’t serve string here.’ String says fine, goes outside, ties a knot in its middle and frays its ends. Comes back inside. Bartender says, ‘aren’t you that piece of string?’ String says, ‘No, I’m a frayed knot.’”

Cog rolled his eyes.

“A bear-- a yao guai walks into a bar,” said Nick. “Says, ‘I’ll have a beer.’” He waited a few moments; just as Cog started to open his mouth, he continued, “‘A Gwinnett Stout, please.’ Bartender says, ‘Fine, but what’s with the big pause?’”

Jule made a tiny noise that could have been a laugh or a groan.

“I don’t get it,” said Hancock.

“Big paws,” I explained, holding up my hands in illustration.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Hancock. “Here, I got one. A dirty wastelander walks into a bar. Bartender says, ‘Hey, we got a drink named after you.’ Wastelander says, ‘You got a drink named Nora?’”

“Hey!” I said, as Jule made another little sound. “You usually say Macready.”

Hancock grinned at me. “It’s funnier if it’s somebody they know.”

“But is it best advised to make it your wife?” Nick asked, and added, “So two Catholics are sitting at a bar. One says, ‘I know it’s a sin, but I slept with my wife before we were married. How about you?’ Other one says, ‘I don’t know. What was her maiden name?’”

“What’s a Catholic?” Cog asked.

“Long story,” I said. “OK, so, a stalk of corn walks into a bar. Bartender says, ‘Wanna hear something crazy?’ Stalk of corn says, ‘I’m all ears!’”

“Lord help us,” said Nick. “Cog, your turn. Give us some up-to-the-minute Far Harbor humor.”

“I don’t know any jokes like this,” said Cog, rubbing Jule’s back. “I know one about a biochemist, a structural engineer, and a pure mathematician.”

“Damn,” said Hancock. “Those Institute types really knew how to bring the house down.”

“Two peanuts walked into a bar,” I said, “and one was assaulted.”

“I know one,” said Michael.

We all turned to look at him, standing by the controls of the boat, half turned away from them to face us. 

“Old Longfellow told it to me,” he said, and then, on the next words, his voice shifted, from his usual precise diction into a fairly unimpeachable imitation of Old Longfellow’s slurred, faintly Irish tones. “So it seems there’s this sailor, right, and he walks into a bar, and there’s the tiller of a boat stickin’ out from his pants. The bartender says, ‘Son, do you know you’ve a tiller down your britches?’ And the sailor says, ‘Sure and it’s drivin’ me nuts!’”

Into the general silence that fell after this--- me, Hancock, Nick, and Cog staring at Michael in a vain attempt to process what he’d just said-- came a low, rusty sound. Jule was shaking against Cog, and when she lifted her head a moment later, I saw that she was laughing, so hard she could barely breathe.

“Oh God,” she wheezed. “If this boat catches on fire and sinks and I die screaming right now, it will all have been worth it. Tell it again, Michael.”

……………………………………………

No one was in sight when we reached the Nakanos’, but I took a running leap from the boat onto the dock anyway, and I was only halfway to the house when Emily came charging around from the back of the house, running full tilt for me. I caught her in my arms, she flung hers around my neck, and I made a sound like the one I’d made when, inside the Institute, I’d stepped into my first hot shower since I’d woken up in Vault 111. 

“Mother,” she said, clinging, and I held onto her until her grip loosened; she was looking at the people behind me, the ones she knew and the ones she didn’t.

“Baby girl,” I said, the words tasting sweet in my mouth, “this is-- well, first of all, your brother’s picked a name for himself-- this is Michael.”

“Oh!” she said, and ran past me, and Michael caught her when she jumped up fearlessly into his arms, and held her up, her feet dangling off the ground, hugging her tight. “Michael!”

“Emily,” he answered, and held her a moment longer before he set her down.

“And this--” Jule and Cog, walking up behind Michael. “Jule, Cog-- this is Emily. Jule and Cog are--” I wanted to say _your sister and your brother_ , but they might take exception-- “synths, too.”

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, softly radiant. “Jule? Are you all right?”

Jule stared at Emily, and said, “I have a headache.”

“I’m sorry,” said Emily. “Cog-- you look familiar. Oh! Oh, I remember! Do you remember me? You found me in the Advanced Systems storage closet, and you asked me what I was hiding from?”

“Holy shit,” said Cog, staring at her. “I do remember, yeah, but you look-- uh-- different, now.”

She laughed happily. “I know. I am. Aren’t you?”

“Not _that_ different,” he said, still staring. “You look-- great. Love the freckles. And the grin.”

“Are you both staying?” Emily asked, looking from Cog to Jule. “In the Commonwealth?”

“Uh, I’m mostly just here for Jule,” said Cog.

“I’m going to take Jule and Cog to Goodneighbor,” I told Emily. “She’s got a problem with a botched mindwipe-- we’re hoping Dr. Amari can help. Then we’ll see what Jule and Cog want to do next. Probably we’ll head to Diamond City to drop off Nick and check in with Shaun, and then we’ll head back to the Castle, and see how things go from there.”

“But you’re spending the night here first, right?” Emily asked. “You should see everything we’ve been getting done around here. There are new settlers, and Kasumi’s been working with Petunia to try to extend the range on the new turrets, and she’s redesigned the water purifier, too, and-- Jule looks tired.”

“I always look tired,” said Jule.

“Do you mind if we spend the night here,” I asked her, “or do you want to push on for Goodneighbor? We’re probably going to have to stop and rest and regroup somewhere between here and there anyway, but one of my settlements is on the way-- hey, Emily, do you want to come with us, and see everybody at the Slog again?”

Emily hesitated. 

“I’ll be happy to take you,” I said, “but if you want to stay here longer, that’s fine too.”

“I think-- I’ll stay here, for right now,” she said. “We’ve been so busy here, and there’s so much more to do-- and I’m being-- I think I’m being really useful.”

“All right, sweetheart.” I put my arm around her and kissed her cheek. I was a little disappointed-- I’d missed her terribly, and now I was going to have to start missing her again almost immediately-- but a little relieved, too. We were going to be traversing some fairly dangerous territory, and I was already going to be worrying about defending Jule and Cog from whatever might jump out at us. I didn’t know what kind of fighting either of them was capable of yet, but with Jule’s headache problem, I was probably looking at having to defend at least her fulltime, and even with Michael, Hancock and Nick along, adding Emily to the mix would have upped the trip’s stress level considerably. “I’m glad you’re having a good time here.”

“We can stay the night here,” said Jule, “if there’s room for all of us.”

“We’ll make room.” Emily was radiant again. “Hancock, I haven’t even hugged you yet!”

“Yeah, get over here,” said Hancock, and hugged her tight when she stood on tiptoe to put her arms around his neck and touch her smooth cheek to his scarred one.

“I can’t believe this,” said Cog, and looked at Michael. “Do _you_ remember her from the Institute?”

“Yes,” said Michael, watching Emily. “I do.”

We did spend the night at the Nakanos’, catching up with them and the Minutemen, sitting on the floor to eat because there weren’t enough tables and chairs for a sudden six more people. Luckily there was an extra bed, narrow but big enough for Hancock and me if he lay mostly on top of me, which was zero problem for either of us. 

We set off early in the morning, with more hugs all around.

“You can still get the Castle on your little radio, right?” I asked Kasumi, and she said, “Oh! I’ll go you one better! Can I see your Pip-Boy?”

I held out my wrist, and she took hold of my arm, twiddled with a few of the dials for a minute, and then said, “Wait here.”

She dashed away, towards the boathouse, and in a second I heard her tinny voice saying from my Pip-Boy, “Testing, testing. This is codename Ohm’s Law. We have a situation. Rendezvous at predetermined point seven-two-nine epsilon.”

After a second, she came running back. “Did it work?”

“It did,” I said, and she grinned in triumph.

“You can’t talk back, of course,” she said, “because there’s no voice input on your Pip-Boy, but we can talk to you. And to the Castle. They’ve got a radio there that’s always on our station. So what you do is, you keep your radio on Radio Freedom, but if we’ve got a situation or a message to send to you, we’ll let the Castle know, and Radio Freedom will let _you_ know to tune in to Radio North.”

“Brilliant, Ohm’s,” I said, and hugged her again. 

…………………………………………………………….

“Damn,” said Hancock, stepping through the door of Goodneighbor. “Looks smaller than I remembered it.”

“Mayor Hancock!” said Daisy, emerging, beaming, from behind the counter of her store. “Nick! Nora! Welcome back! Strangers, welcome to Goodneighbor!” Her eyes lingered appreciatively on Michael, who was looking around as if mapping everywhere someone might suddenly spring from with a gun or a knife, which, in all fairness, was not a bad plan in Goodneighbor.

‘Hey, Daisy,” said Hancock. “Meet the wife and kids.”

Daisy gave her creaking laugh. “We heard about the wedding on the radio, but kids already? You work fast, Mayor.”

“You know it,” he said, winking. “Fahrenheit doing all right by our fair city?”

“Runs a tight ship,” Daisy answered. “Go up and see her.”

“I will,” he said, and turned to me. “You need me to come along to the Memory Den, or--?”

“Nah, go see Fahrenheit,” I said. “Tell her I’ll be up to see her too, in a bit.” 

Nick said, “Mind if I come with you, Hancock? Last time I stopped by the Memory Den, things got a little--” 

“Sure,” said Hancock. “Fahrenheit’ll be glad to see you again.”

I looked at Michael. “Got that case of data? Ready, Jule?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she said.

In Amari’s lab in the Memory Den, Jule let me explain the situation, and Dr. Amari opened Faraday’s case and began sorting through some computery-looking things I couldn’t have begun to identify, but that seemed to interest Amari even more than the synthetic hippocampus I’d once yanked out of Kellogg’s cooling brain. 

Amari looked at Jule. “What do you hope to accomplish here today?”

“I’d like my head to stop hurting,” she said. “And I’d like my-- my old self back. Whatever it was. I guess.”

Amari nodded. “And if it proves necessary-- although I can’t yet say whether it will-- to choose between preserving the new memories you’ve formed since this botched procedure, and restoring your former memories?”

Jule hesitated, and looked at Cog, and me, and Michael.

“Can I just--” She swallowed. “Can I just kind of-- see what the old ones were? Without you-- actually putting them back in?”

“I can't make any promises until you're in the lounger,” Amari answered, "but I believe that should be possible."

“Then can I decide then?”

“Yes,” said Amari. “Very prudent of you. And speaking of prudence, you do understand that this procedure is not without risk? That although I will make every effort to leave you better off than I find you, mistakes are possible that will have the opposite effect?”

Jule nodded.

“This may take some hours,” Amari said. “Please choose _one_ of these people to remain with you during the procedure.”

“Cog,” said Jule immediately.

Amari looked at Michael and me. “We’ll notify you when the procedure is complete.”

“You’re kicking us out?”

“Yes,” said Amari. “Congratulations on your marriage, by the way. Does Mayor Hancock know about this strapping young man?”

I laughed. “Yeah, he does. Thanks, doc.”

I took Michael up to Hancock’s old office in the State House, where we found Fahrenheit and Hancock taking alternating hits off an inhaler of Jet and discussing local politics with Nick.

“Congratulations,” Fahrenheit said to me. “And hello there, handsome.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at me. 

“He looks like nobody ever called him that before,” Fahrenheit said. “Take him down to the Third Rail for a drink, why don’t you, and see if you can get him used to people hitting on him.”

“I could use a drink, actually,” I admitted, and looked at Michael. “Unless you’re going to give me a lecture on how alcohol impairs perception and contributes to brain damage.”

“I have no objection to your drinking in moderation, ma’am,” he answered.

“Good.”

Magnolia was singing in the Third Rail, and paused in the middle of her song to say into the microphone, “Look who just walked in, everyone! The woman who made an honest man out of our own Mayor John Hancock! Who’s gonna be the first to buy her a drink?”

Michael and I sat down at the bar, and Whitechapel Charlie put a Dirty Wastelander down in front of me and said, “In honor of your nuptials-- on the house. First one only, mind you. I’ve seen you put these away. And for the gentleman?”

I looked at Michael.

“Nothing, thank you, ma’am,” he said.

“Purified water,” I told Charlie. “Thanks. Start a tab, yeah?”

People, including Kent Connolly, who was still calling me “Shroud,” kept coming up and congratulating me; I introduced Michael, who seemed at first bemused, and then amused, by the flirtation that Fahrenheit had correctly predicted. It was all a pretty good distraction from the thought of Jule lying in the Memory Lounger, overlaid with my own nightmare memory of G5-19’s limp body and empty, staring eyes. What if the same thing happened to Jule? What if Amari accidentally killed her, or left her a mindless shell, capable of doing nothing but breathe and be fed? It would be my fault. I was the one who’d talked her into this. Cog would never forgive me. Nobody at Acadia would. I’d never forgive myself. I’d have lost Jule.

Several people wanted to buy me drinks, but when I’d finished my second one and reached for the third that had been placed in front of me, Michael said, “Two drinks is moderate, ma’am. Three verges on excessive.”

“You are the _bossiest_ \--” I paused. “I was about to say you’re the bossiest of all my kids, but that’s not even remotely true. All my kids are pretty goddamn bossy.”

“What an inexplicable circumstance,” said Michael, and I burst out laughing.

He was right, though-- more than two drinks and I might have started getting weepy about what might be happening to Jule’s brain right now. As it was, I was just the right amount of buzzed to get lost in chatter and catching-up and Goodneighbor gossip, and to lose track of time until Michael said, “Ma’am” and I looked up and saw Cog and Jule walking in, Jule leaning lightly on Cog’s arm.

I jumped up and ran to them. Jule looked-- better. Definitely better. Not so pale, not sweaty, not furious.

“Jule?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Turns out it’s actually Victoria,” said Cog. “Go figure, right?”

“Victoria?” I tried, and she nodded. “Are you-- all right?”

“I think so,” said Jule-- Victoria-- a little hoarsely. “It’s going to take some getting used to. I keep-- thinking of things. But my head doesn’t hurt, and--” She looked around, suddenly, curiously, and smiled. “Hey, is this a bar? Did we just walk into a bar? What is this, some kind of a joke?”


	18. I said, how is it that you come back to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Josh Ritter, "Right Moves"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Skxi14RSJN0))

“So where to?” I asked Cog and Victoria, when I was done shrieking with happiness and making Victoria laugh and wince simultaneously. “I”ve got to get to Diamond City to check on my son and drop Nick off, and then I’ve got to get back home to the Castle and check in on everything there. You’re both welcome to come along, or you can stay here if you want, and I’ll come back and get you and take you back to Acadia, if you--”

“Uh, fuck Acadia,” said Cog. “Acadia’s boring as shit, plus apparently they brainwipe you sometimes. Badly. Let’s take this show on the road! Let’s see the Commonwealth! Let’s get drunk right now and start a bar fight!”

“Knock yourself out,” said Victoria. “I’ve already had enough brain damage, thanks. Listen, Glinda, the doctor lady said I need to make sure I get plenty of sleep for awhile. Is there anywhere I can-- crash?”

“Oh, sure, sweetheart,” I said-- it just slipped out, but she didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll get you a room at the Rexford. Sleep all you want. But after that--?”

“Yeah, fuck Acadia,” said Victoria. “Road trip. Sounds good. I’ve never been to Diamond City-- hey, isn’t the mayor there a synth?”

“Used to be,” I said. “He’s dead now. How did you know that?”

“Not sure,” she said. “Like I said-- things keep kind of-- occurring to me. It’s weird. Not bad, just weird. What’s the Rexford?”

“It’s the big hotel here in town,” I said. “Come on, I’ll get you settled. You want to stay here, Cog? My tab’s open. Don’t get too drunk. Don’t start a bar fight.”

“Yes, mother,” said Cog, and even though it was sarcastic, it gave me a thrill.

“I’ll supervise Cog, ma’am,” said Michael, and Cog said, “Everywhere the hell I go, turns out there’s a courser supervising. At least this one knows a joke about a sailor’s ballsack, though, that’s a fun new development. Hey, robot bartender, do you know any jokes?”

“Since you ask,” said Whitechapel Charlie, “I know a joke about an Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman.”

“Come on, J-- Victoria,” I said. “This is about to go downhill.”

I got her to a decent room at the Rexford, tucked her in, and left some food and water and caps on the table by the bed.

“Sleep as long as you want,” I told her; her eyes were already closed. “Hancock’s still the-- well, kind of the honorary mayor around here-- but if you ask anybody where I am, or where Hancock is, they shouldn’t give you any trouble. You want me to stay with you?”

“No,” she said, and opened her eyes again, to look at me. “I’ll be all right. Hey, Glinda.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for this,” she said. “Really.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Really.”

She closed her eyes again, and I waited a couple of minutes, until her breathing turned long and regular, and then slipped out, and went to find Hancock and Nick in Fahrenheit’s office, and tell them the good news about Victoria.

Hancock and I ended up getting a room at the Rexford for the night, across the hall from Victoria, and as soon as the door closed behind us, he went for the buttons on my fatigues with one hand, the other at the small of my back as he backed me towards the bed.

“Mmm,” I said appreciatively. “God, it’s been forever. Sorry, I marry you and immediately take an un-honeymoon-- oh--”

He covered my mouth with his, and there wasn’t any more talking for awhile, just the sweet, familiar ways our bodies knew each other-- and one new thing: his right hand on my left hand, clutching and pinning it, his callused, scarred thumb rubbing feverishly at the hard, smooth metal of the ring.

 

……………………………………………..

We left early for Diamond City, Victoria looking refreshed, although still a little dazed. According to Michael, Cog had spent most of the night eating and drinking (“alcohol only in moderation, ma’am,” which meant he’d probably gotten quite a Nuka Cola sugar-and-caffeine high, too) and flirting and joking with everyone in the bar, and now, having crashed from his various highs, was relatively quiet and subdued. When we ran into a raider gang-- fucking raiders were like cockroaches, you could exterminate them a million times and they just kept popping back up-- he and Victoria both froze up a bit, but Nick, Hancock, Michael and I made pretty short work of them. One put her hands up, and I gave her my boilerplate go-and-raid-no-more speech and pointed her at the nearest Minuteman-allied settlement.

“She does that sometimes,” Hancock told Michael, as the raider took off running and Michael turned to me quizzically. 

“I’d do it all the time, if they had the sense God gave a goat,” I said. “Which I get that ferals and super mutants don’t, but with humans-- you’d think at this point, once they saw it was us, they’d just lie down on the ground with their hands on their heads and wait. Oh well. Everybody OK? Good to go?”

“Crazy pretend human mom is kind of a badass,” Cog said to Victoria, as we started walking again. “Who do you think would win in a fistfight, her or Chase?”

“Chase,” I said immediately. 

“Is that because you’d be blinded with tears because your precious little girl was mad at you?”

“Exactly,” I said. “And with tears of pride about what a good puncher she is. Come on, guys, let’s pick up the pace. Maybe we’ll get to Diamond City without killing anybody else.”

………………………………………………………….

 

Shaun was outside Piper’s office when we arrived in the city, and he shrieked when he saw me, dropping an armful of newspapers and leaping up into my arms, screaming “Mom!” in my ear.

“Baby!” I gasped, putting him down. “Look at you working so hard!” I looked up as Piper burst out of the door of the office and came running to hug me, too. “Piper! I bring you my son to further his education and you exploit him for free labor--”

“Can it, Blue,” said Piper, and squeezed me so hard I coughed. “He goes to school too. And I pay him a fair wage, just like I do Nat. And you better not be here to take him away, he’s my best salesman.”

“What do you say, baby?” I asked him. “You ready to go back to the Castle?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, mom, please not yet, it’s great here, I sell the papers and Piper gives me caps and I’m saving up and Nat and Sheng and I go swimming and Travis is teaching me how to do the radio and I’ve learned so much stuff in school and one of the teachers is a robot and it’s so great--”

“I’m so happy you’re having so much fun, baby,” I told him, although I had a lump in my throat-- it seemed none of my far-flung eggs were ready to come home to the basket yet, although I _had_ acquired two new ones. “Piper, Shaun, this is Cog, and this is Victoria. They’re both synths. I met them in Far Harbor.”

“Are you kidding me?” Piper demanded. “Can I interview them immediately?”

“No,” I said. “And this--”

“We know X9-21 already!” said Shaun, laughing.

“I have a new name, Shaun,” X9-21 said, smiling down at him. “My name is Michael.”

“Cool,” said Shaun happily. “Listen, mom, Piper says you gave her some caps to buy me things I need but she won’t buy me a swatter and I really _need_ one.”

I laughed. “Why do you need a swatter?”

“Because this is Diamond City!” said Shaun. “It’s an old city tradition!”

“What are you going to hit with it?”

“Nothing,” said Shaun. “Unless I _need_ to.”

“That’s the spirit, kiddo,” said Hancock.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Let’s go to Nick’s office and see Ellie.”

“Ellie’s probably at the Dugout, drowning her sorrows,” said Piper. “She’s been pretty worried about you guys.”

“Then let’s go there,” said Nick, his brow furrowing. 

Piper had been right; Ellie was sitting alone at a table in the Dugout, sipping listlessly at an old-fashioned glass. When the crowd of us came in, she stood up, her mouth falling open, and then stood very still while Nick went to her.

“You were gone a long time, boss,” she said in a small voice.

“I know,” he said, his glowing yellow eyes fixed on her face. “Did you miss me?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, and gave him a sudden impish smile. “Did you solve the case? What did you find out?”

“I found out a lot of things, Miss Ellie,” he said. “Planning on finding out some more, too, now that I’m home again. Anybody give you any trouble while I was gone?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. You know me.”

“I do,” he agreed, and smiled at her. “Could always stand to get to know you a little bit better, though. Mind if I sit?”

“Suit yourself,” she said, and let him push her chair in for her when she moved to sit back down herself. “Oh, what a gentleman.”

“Hey, gang,” I said to Piper and my family. “Let’s all go explore Diamond City!”

We spent the rest of the day doing just that-- well, Victoria, Cog, and Michael explored, with caps I offered them for shopping and food,, and Hancock and Piper and Shaun and I caught up and gossiped. Hancock and I told Piper and Shaun almost everything that had happened in Acadia, making Piper promise not to put anything in the paper about it, at least not until the peace was less new and fragile, and Piper and Shaun caught us up on what _they’d_ been doing, and then dusk was falling and Victoria and Cog wanted to show me what they’d bought and tell me what the weird lady with the Mister Handy assistant had said to them about Diamond City being overrun, and then we all crashed at Home Plate, and left early again, next morning, for the Castle. We didn’t see Nick and Ellie again, and although I speculated, I determinedly didn’t say anything. We’d see.

…………………………………………….

There was no one at the Castle to come running and jump into my arms-- it would have been a little much to expect of Max, just yet-- but Max did come hurrying across the courtyard as we entered, just behind Alice Hastings and just ahead of Tanvi Achanta. All three of them looked agitated; Tanvi looked downright frightened, Max looked both angry and apprehensive, and Dr. Hastings just looked mad. A few Minutemen and settlers looked up, or emerged from doorways around the courtyard, but hung back as the three of them reached the five of us and came to a halt. 

“X9-21,” said Dr. Hastings sharply, and snapped her fingers, “come here.”

Michael moved forward immediately, stepping from where he’d been standing at my side to stand before her instead. She looked him up and down, inspecting him as if he were a car she’d loaned to someone else and wanted to make sure hadn’t gotten scratched. He stood motionless and expressionless under her scrutiny. 

“You are _forbidden_ to leave us again,” she told him. “I should have forbidden you to go in the first place. It was a serious lapse in judgment on my part.” She turned to me. “As was, I am beginning to fear, coming here at all. I see you have brought more renegade synths with you.”

“Hey, doc,” said Cog. “Nice to see you again, too.”

“I suppose they are going to stay here,” said Dr. Hastings, addressing me, her face flushed. “I suppose that, having brought one synth here of whom even you know nothing-- and having deprived us of our only protection--” she gestured at Michael, without looking at him-- “I should not be surprised when you return with even more mannerless synths to threaten and insult us.”

“I didn’t _threaten_ you,” said Max to her.

“What _did_ you do?” I asked. I wasn’t _too_ worried-- if he’d harmed anyone, or made any actual, credible threat, the Minutemen-- well, they might have hesitated to kill him or throw him out, at least before I got home to weigh in, but they’d definitely have him disarmed, restrained and under guard. 

“You see?” Hastings said to Tanvi, flinging out her arm wildly in my direction. “Whom does she ask for an explanation? If he lies, do you think our word will carry any weight against his?”

“Shut up a second, Dr. Hastings,” I said, and she went crimson. “Max?”

“Look,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause a lot of trouble. I guess I shouldn’t have stayed here-- I should have gone with that-- that Deacon guy. I’ll go now, if you want.”

“What did you do?” I asked again, patiently. 

“I mean,” he said, “I guess X9-21 and Y4-15 just do whatever they say?” He jerked his head towards Hastings and Tanvi. “Was I supposed to let her boss me around, or--?”

“No, of course not,” I said. 

“It’s possible to decline a request with _basic civility,”_ said Dr. Hastings.

Max looked at me. “Yeah, I was rude. I cussed her out. I guess I shouldn’t have-- but she led with ‘you there,’ and it pissed me off, I was ‘you there, unit’ for eight years, and-- yeah, so I told her to fuck off, and I wasn’t her goddamn property. And she told me not to use that kind of language to her, and I told her I’d use any kind of fucking language I wanted to her. And I called her a bitch.” He was watching my face carefully for a reaction.

“That was rude,” I agreed mildly, and looked back at Alice Hastings. “I mean, was there more to it than that?”

“I have _never_ been spoken to like that,” said Dr. Hastings furiously. “At least Y4-15 had some sense of decorum-- although you spoiled and indulged her as if she were a princess-- but I will say she was never openly insolent--”

“OK, lady, hold it right there,” I said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is not the Institute 2.0, and Max’s tone aside, he’s correct that these synths are not your goddamn property and they don’t owe you a fucking thing, including _decorum._ Just because Emily’s polite to you-- and lets you boss her around behind my back, apparently--” My eyes flicked involuntarily to Michael, who had been silent this whole time, standing beside and just behind Dr. Hastings’ shoulder, but he still said nothing, and I decided not to involve him in the conversation unless he wanted to join it. I knew he still felt-- something-- for his former Institute masters, and it wasn’t really my business what, unless he volunteered to make it so. “That’s not something you have a right to _expect_ from these guys.”

“This is insufferable,” said Hastings. “You destroy our home--”

“Dr. Hastings!” Tanvi cried.

“No, I mean, I did destroy your home,” I said. “That’s fair.”

“You took us in,” said Tanvi. “You shared _your_ home with us. You saved our lives.”

“After I put them in danger,” I pointed out. “By destroying the Institute.”

“Precisely,” said Dr. Hastings.

“And then I proceeded to place you in this terrible situation,” I said. “Enslaved and held prisoner under armed guard. Forced to work, experimented on, exploited, getting your entire identities modified or erased for trying to escape, or for disobedience, or for no reason at all. Or because somebody didn’t want to get mildly reprimanded for for having raped you. You’re so right, Dr. Hastings. That is insufferable. I’m so sorry I did all that to you. Or at least let it all happen, by turning a blind eye. That was really shitty of me.” 

“Ha!” said Victoria. “You’re all right, Glinda.”

“Nora--” Tanvi’s face was ashen, the warm tones gone from the chestnut of her skin. “Dr. Hastings is-- overwrought--”

“I’m not pissed at you, Tanvi,” I said. “Or even at her. But let’s be real here. If Max is feeling a little raw, I don’t think anybody from the Institute has much room on the moral high ground. If he’d hurt you, that would be different, but--”

“Would it?” demanded Dr. Hastings. “Where does this indulgence, this preference, end?”

“Uh, when somebody hurts somebody else?”

“And when one of your precious synths decides to wreak its vengeance on the Institute by bringing you some wild tale of our imaginary crimes?” She was shaking. “You accept whatever they tell you without question-- Y4-15’s ridiculous claim that--”

Beside her, Michael lifted his hand and placed it lightly on her arm, and she actually shrieked, turning to him with a face as shocked as if the Castle wall had reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. He withdrew his hand immediately, but she didn’t relax.

“I apologize for startling you, Dr. Hastings,” he said. “But I strongly advise you not to finish that sentence.”

“What-- what do you--” She made an obvious effort to strengthen and harshen her voice, to speak with authority. “You forget yourself, X9-21. It’s hardly your place to police my speech.”

“No, Dr. Hastings,” he said, his own voice oddly gentle. “But it is my place to protect you, and that is what I am trying to do.”

“You see,” said Hastings to Tanvi. “Even X9-21 agrees that we aren’t safe with this madwoman and her collection of--”

“On the contrary,” Michael said, and her head jerked back towards him. “You seem bent on forcing a rift with Ms. Bowman, which would be extremely unwise. Your survival skills are almost nonexistent, and you will accomplish nothing by alienating the leader of the Minutemen. And I cannot protect you if you leave me behind.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, haughtily, or as haughtily as she could manage with her eyes as wide as they were. The content of what he was saying aside, I’d have bet she’d never heard him say so much at once.

“If you leave here, you will leave me behind,” he said, still gently. “I am not your property either, Dr. Hastings. And you do not have the power, or the right, to take me from my home.”

As she stared up at him, Dr. Hastings’ face crumpled and greyed until she looked ten years older, and also a little bit like a child whose favorite doll had just stood up and announced that it didn’t want to play with her anymore.

“All right," said Hancock, beside me, with measured satisfaction. “You tell her, Michael.”

Michael frowned at him. “Hancock, please. Dr. Hastings is already in some distress.” 

“Michael?” said Dr. Hastings faintly, and he turned back to her, and then said, “Oh. Yes. I’ve chosen a name.”

“A _name?”_ The horror and despair in her voice were so profound it would have been kind of funny, if it hadn’t also been sad. 

He smiled at her, a little. “You don’t have to use it, Dr. Hastings. I will still answer to my designation. And to ‘you there,’ if you wish.”

As she looked at him, her lower lip began to quiver slightly, making her look more like a bereft little girl than ever. I could almost see her eyes refocusing, looking at him and seeing, not a valuable piece of technology she had managed to salvage from the ruins of the Institute, but a tall, broad-shouldered man, his gaze steady on her, his face difficult to read. Especially, I imagined, for someone who hadn’t ever spent a lot of time trying.

“There’s no need for alarm, Dr. Hastings,” he said, the gentleness in his voice taking on a note of fond chiding: _Don’t be ridiculous._ “Your lack of power over me is hardly a new development. Did you believe-- or did you think I believed-- I had no choice but to defend you and provide for you?”

He left space for her to answer, but she didn’t.

“I have had a choice for some time now,” he said, when she had been silent for a few moments. “And when I was offered a home here, I chose to bring you here to share it. Ms. Bowman feeds, shelters, and protects you, for my sake. If you really wish to leave here, then I will do my best-- with Ms. Bowman’s assistance, if she will be so kind-- to find you somewhere else well defended and well provisioned to live. But if you want me as your--” He hesitated, choosing a word. “Guardian. If you want me as your guardian, you will have to stay here. I will try not to stay away for so long again.”

“For so long--?” she repeated hoarsely.

He nodded. “Dr. Hastings, I would never have left you-- and Dr. Achanta, and Mr. Benson, and Naveena-- if I were not perfectly confident that you were safe here in my temporary absence. And my assessment has not changed. It’s simply not necessary for me to be confined here, when I could be putting my skills to use where they are actually needed.”

She blinked at him, still trembling a little. 

“You are not in danger,” he said to her-- the same words, and in the same tone, that he’d used to Gwyneth in Acadia. “If you are really afraid you may be the target of false accusations--” He looked at me. “Ma’am, you’ve been generous enough to express confidence in my ability to detect falsehood. Would you trust me to assess the truth or falsehood of any accusations against Dr. Hastings?”

“Um.” I hesitated for just a second-- the idea of putting a synth with a grievance on trial by courser was a little appalling to me-- but considering how unlikely I found the whole scenario in the first place, and considering that I _was_ sure Michael wouldn’t lie, even to protect his precious scientists-- “Yeah, I guess I would.”

“Does that satisfy you, Dr. Hastings?” Michael asked. “Will you stay here with me? And with Max, and Cog, and Victoria, and whatever other--” He glanced up at Max, who was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open, before finishing, to Dr. Hastings, “--mannerless synths we may encounter here?”

Dr. Hastings swallowed hard. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Good,” he said, and smiled at her again. “I have every confidence in your ability to survive the ordeal.”

“Thank God,” said Tanvi, and started to cry. I moved to her side, and put my arm around her, and she flung both her arms around me, and cried harder.

“It’s OK,” I told her, rubbing her back comfortingly. “There, there. You’re just frazzled. Everything’s OK. Everybody’s safe, and everything’s OK.”

“May I offer you a hug, Dr. Hastings?” Michael asked gravely, and a burst of slightly hysterical laughter escaped her as she looked up at him. Then she nodded again.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her; at first she didn’t lift hers to hug back, just stood there inside the circle of his arms, and then, slowly, her arms came up to cling just below his shoulder blades. 

“Hey, by the way,” said Victoria to Max, as I held Tanvi and Michael held Dr. Hastings. “We’re the new renegades in town.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Max, with that dazzling Glory-grin. “Should we hug, too?”

“C’mere, my mannerless man,” said Cog, and he and Max did the hug-and-thump thing that was apparently hardwired into synth males as well as human ones. 

“I’ll pass, thanks,” said Victoria. “But, uh, did somebody say something about _well provisioned?_ I’m starving.”

“Hancock, my love,” I said over Tanvi’s shoulder. Dr. Hastings had hidden her face against Michael’s chest. “Will you take the new kids and show them the food and water and beds and try to convince them we're more fun than Acadia." 

"So far, so good," said Cog.

"Come on," said Hancock to Cog and Victoria. "Welcome home."

Michael said something to Dr. Hastings, too quietly for me to hear, and she looked up at him, her face mottled and streaked with the onset of tears, and smiled.


	19. and if you could show me the story of love, I would write it again and again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Shawn Colvin, "Climb On (A Back That's Strong)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWlb9tpboAM))

“OK,” I said, frowning at the display. “Well-- this looks like some kind of-- port. What do you think would happen if I plugged in my Pip-Boy?”

Hancock shrugged, looking as frustrated as I felt. “One way to find out.” 

I pulled the jack out of my Pip-Boy and tried to stick it in the console between two useless flashing lights, but it didn’t fit. 

“Hey,” said Deacon, watching me wiggle the prong ineffectually against the hole. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time--”

“Shut it, Deacon,” said Piper. “There’s kids here.”

“The kids are in the other room, reading something about a little girl with a suitcase full of gold coins who carries horses around on her shoulders,” said Hancock. “Pretty sure all those prewar children’s authors were stoned out of their minds.” 

Deacon said, “I was actually just going to tell you about the time I spent a literal week partying in the Boston Public Library when I was supposed to be checking out a lead on a possible Brotherhood outpost up north, and then my boss found out and had me murdered.”

“We’ll check out the Brotherhood bunker before we go back to Desdemona,” I said. “Don’t stress so much, it’ll give you wrinkles. If I could just figure out how to get all this information-- downloaded or uploaded or zipped or unzipped or whatever the hell I’m supposed to do to be able to read it--”

We definitely hadn’t planned on spending an entire week here, but there had just been so much to do. The first time I’d been here, years ago, Macready and I had both had other things on our minds; we’d dragged all the super mutant bodies out, buried Curator Givens, returned Daisy’s book, and moved on, and somehow, what with everything, I’d never been back. There were still turret pieces and protectron bodies around everywhere; when those were cleaned up, the bookshelves and books were still piled every which way. We’d righted and repaired the shelves, and then begun the work of sorting through the books and figuring out which ones were worth saving, which, according to certain members of our party, was any of them with even one readable sentence.

That still left a lot that even the information junkies agreed was unreadable, so we made a bonfire on the steps outside as Piper made an impassioned speech about everything that we could have learned from these books if they hadn’t been destroyed by violence and subsequent neglect, which made Deacon-- and we all saw it, so it didn’t matter how vehemently he denied it later-- cry. 

We sorted the remaining books into completely-or-almost-completely-undamaged, moderately-damaged, and damaged-so-severely-we-would-have-thrown-them-out-if-we-didn’t-know-Deacon-would-cry-about-it. (Deacon moved to rename the last category but was unanimously voted down.) Then we got to work reshelving, which didn’t go all that fast, because we all kept opening the books to read a little bit and see what they were, and then forgetting to close them again -so we could put them on the shelves where they belonged. 

Shaun and Nat were in charge of kids’ books, and had instructions to bring me any Mary Poppins books they found, and any Oz ones, too, so Victoria would understand why she was still calling me Glinda. Nat had found one of the latter-- _Tik-Tok of Oz_ \-- and given it to Victoria, who’d sat down and read it cover to cover in about three hours; it took about half of one of those hours before she started laughing out loud as she read.

Deacon kept opening the fattest old novels, the ones that probably weighed twenty pounds and had originally come out in three volumes, with a look like a starving man who’d just spotted an entire Thanksgiving dinner. Piper had dragged out an armload of bound compilations of old newspapers and had about eight of them open around her. Kasumi and-- interestingly-- Max were building themselves an impromptu fort out of science and engineering tomes, and Emily had settled down in the section we’d designated for poetry, with an adorable little crinkle in her brow as she pored over the small print. She’d also brought Victoria a book by someone named Victoria Sackville-West, and after Victoria finished _Tik-Tok_ , she’d opened it skeptically and then hadn’t moved for awhile, except to turn pages. Cog had found a cache of old _Silver Shroud_ s.

Even I was so distracted-- there were novels here that had just come out, and that I’d really meant to get around to reading once Shaun was sleeping through the night more reliably, when the world ended-- that I kept not noticing when Michael and Hancock left, until they came back with fresh supplies of food and water. We ate and drank; some of us fell asleep periodically with books on our faces, and then woke up with murmurs of protest as someone picked them up off us to shelve.

It wasn’t until today that Deacon had started making noises about leaving the library again at some point, which had made me realize that was probably going to be necessary, which had made me remember the note about the information compressed on the console, which I’d now been staring at for so long that all the stupid little lights were flashing on the insides of my eyelids every time I blinked.

“Michael!” I heard Emily call, from the other room. “Where are you? Come look at this.”

“You know who we should have brought to take a look at this, Blue,” said Piper, tapping at the display with a fingernail. 

“Nick,” I agreed. “But he’s pretty busy right now. Actually, you know who might _really_ know his way around a thing like this-- there was a lot of flashy-lighty stuff like this at Acadia. If we could get DiMA to take a look-- or Faraday--”

“Oh, good,” said Deacon. “Let’s make a side trip to _Acadia_ before we pursue our actual mission.” 

“Listen, buster,” I said. “You’re the one who begged to come to the library--”

“I thought we were just _stopping by_ the library.”

“--and you can leave and go check out Observation Post Whatever-the-hell anytime you feel like it.”

“By myself?” Deacon clutched imaginary pearls. “Bullseye, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t send me out all alone into the cold, cruel Commonwealth--”

“OK,” I said, and walked away from the impenetrable console out into the big open room just outside, clapping twice, sharply. “Gather ‘round, everybody. Bring whatever book you’re reading right this second and come gather up. Friends, offspring, in-laws, lend me your ears.”

“In-laws?” Piper wondered softly, but I ignored her, and so did Deacon. 

“All right,” I said, when everyone had come wandering reluctantly up into a ragged semicircle, everybody clutching at least one book, some with two or three others tucked under their arms. “Now theoretically, all the books in this entire library are stored in digital form on that console back there, but nobody can figure out how to get into it. And I don’t know if you guys have noticed, but we have been here for an actual week already. So for right now, we are leaving.”

There was a chorus of protests, which I waited out before adding, “We will be back-- and we will get that information unlocked-- but for right now, you all have--” I glanced at my Pip-Boy, calculated the walk back to the Castle and what time it would be getting dark-- “two hours, to pick out however many books you feel like carrying home.”

Dejected faces all around.

“But we still didn’t find _Mary Poppins_ ,” said Shaun.

“Next time, baby,” I promised. “If it’s here, we’ll find it. And if it’s on the computer, we’ll get into the computer. And if it’s neither of those places, I’ll make a run to the Capital Wasteland and see what’s left of the Library of Congress. You found a lot of good books, though, right? Get sorting.”

“Will you help me carry some?” Shaun asked.

“Sure, sweetheart,” I said. “Load me up.”

“I’ll help with other people’s, too,” said Hancock. “Never been much of a reader.”

He ended up taking two each of Emily’s and Kasumi’s overflow, after I gently reminded them both that their packs were going to get a lot heavier over the next few hours as we made the trek home. Piper picked just one for herself, a big weighty hardcover, and let Nat cram the rest of her pack full of smaller books. 

I found Deacon sitting on the floor amid a pile of giant books-- the titles I could see were _The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy_ , _Clarissa_ , _Middlemarch,_ _Collected Plays of Shaw_ , and _Twenty Years Later_.

“If I borrow some Buffout from Hancock,” he said, looking up at me, “and if I can find some booze to drink so I don’t feel the pain, how many of these do you think--”

“How many of these do you actually _need_ , Deacon?”

“All of them,” he said, giving me puppy eyes. “Come on, Bullseye, how much garbage have I carted across the Commonwealth for you? Just a little help, here?”

I nodded at my pack, whose seams were straining as Shaun tried to shove another book into it. “Sorry.”

“Did I ever tell you I’m a synth, too?”

I rolled my eyes. “Pick the ones you’re going to read first, OK? We’ll be back here before you have time to finish more than two of these, I promise.”

“But--”

“Ma’am,” said Michael, coming up next to me. Deacon stopped talking and started cramming books into his pack. “Would you find it advisable to leave a cache of food and water here, against our return, or would it carry too much risk of being stolen?”

“No, that’s a great idea,” I said. “Free up some pack space, too. And if it does get stolen, at least it’ll be by literature-lovers.”

Michael nodded. “It had also crossed my mind that you might consider leaving a permanent detachment of Minutemen here. It would be a shame if raiders or more super mutants destroyed what’s been accomplished this week.”

“That’s also a great idea,” I agreed. “Remind me when I get back to the Castle to ask for volunteers for a rotating library guard. I bet we’ll have plenty of takers.”

Michael nodded again; his eyes were on Deacon, and his giant books. “Yes, ma’am. Deacon, do you need assistance?”

Deacon looked up, but said nothing.

“I’m not in the habit of overburdening myself for travel,” said Michael, swinging his pack to the ground, and kneeling down beside Deacon to unzip it and show him the contents: one book, a slender volume with _Lyrical Ballads_ printed on the cover, which was not exactly what I would have expected Michael to choose out of the entirety of the Boston Public Library, but hey. “May I help you carry some of these?”

Deacon looked up at him, and then at me, and then back at Michael, and cleared his throat. “Uh. That’s really nice of you, uh, Michael, but-- you don’t have to do that.”

Michael said, “If I were under an obligation to help you, the offer to do so would be redundant.”

“It’s fine,” said Deacon, zipping his pack; he shouldered it and stood up. “I’ll just, uh, leave these other ones here for later.”

Without answering, Michael picked up the remaining books and began inserting them meticulously into his own pack.

Deacon looked at me. “Did you tell him to be nice to me or something?”

“What do you take me for?” I said. “I’ve never told anybody to be nice to you in my life.”

“I apologize if my niceness has exceeded the limits of courtesy,” said Michael, so seriously that even I couldn’t tell for sure whether he was being sarcastic.

“Look,” Deacon began. “Michael-- I’m sure you’re a great guy--”

“But I have been responsible for the deaths of your friends and fellow Railroad agents,” said Michael. “I understand. I am not offering to carry your books in the hope that you will forget that. Or forgive me.”

Deacon blinked at him-- for somebody who was used to pirouetting in elaborate circles around even innocuous truths, let alone uncomfortable ones, Michael’s directness must have felt like a threat, or at the very least a challenge-- and then said, bluntly, “Then why _are_ you offering to carry my books?”

Michael considered that for a while, and, to his credit, Deacon didn’t break into the pause with any nonsense, or take the opportunity to walk away. He kept his eyes on Michael, steadily, looking straight at him for longer than he had-- I was pretty sure-- since he’d first encountered him at the Castle. It probably helped that Deacon was standing, and Michael was still on his knees. There wasn’t really any reason for him to be, anymore, and I suspected he was doing it on purpose, to keep from looming over Deacon.

“I’ve spent most of my life following orders,” said Michael, finally. “And I was very good at it. And now that I’m making my own choices-- I would like to make good ones. I would like to be a good-- person. And Hancock, and Piper, and--” he hesitated fractionally-- “my mother, have all offered to help carry others’ burdens, to the extent that they are able. I would like to do the same. I would like to help you carry these things, because I am physically capable, and because you are my mother’s friend, and because-- to my understanding-- this is what good people do. They help each other, when they can. Even in small ways. I would be-- grateful-- if you would allow me to do this. This small thing. For you.”

He held a book in his hand, half in his pack, half out.

Deacon said, after a moment, “OK. You can help me.”

“Thank you,” said Michael, and slid the book the rest of the way into his pack, and zipped it, and stood. “I’m ready to go whenever you wish, ma’am.”

I reached out and took his hand-- I tried not to do this kind of mushy stuff with him too much, not to make him uncomfortable with too much demonstrativeness, too much physical affection, but there were times when I couldn’t help it-- and lifted it to my lips. When I let go, he inclined his head slightly towards me, his habitual gesture of acknowledgement when he didn’t deem an actual “yes, ma’am” necessary, and turned away, walking towards Shaun, who was wrestling with the zipper on my pack.

“Thanks,” I said to Deacon, who turned to look at me for a second before he said, “For letting your killing machine carry my shit for me? Hey, you’re all kinds of welcome.”

I smiled at him. “Well, don’t cry about it or anything.”

“For fuck’s sake, Nora, I did not _cry!_ There was a giant smoking bonfire right next to me blowing book ashes into my eyes--”

“Sad, sad book ashes,” I said, grinning. “Come on, agent. We’ve got a lot of books to drop off at the Castle before we take off to find the poor little shivering remnant of Brotherhood at Camp Last Resort.”

“I haven’t told Des what you usually do with the Brotherhood intel PAM gives you,” said Deacon. “But she’s gotten suspicious anyway. That’s why she told me to go with you on this one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying not to show any surprise, which probably just gave me the fake noncommittal expression that Deacon knew all too well from the inside. “I check out every lead PAM gives me on Brotherhood stragglers.”

“And drop off secret care packages,” said Deacon. “Food. Water. Medkits. Probably little notes signed ‘A Well-Wisher,’ since they always disappear off PAM’s radar right after.”

I sighed. “Well, aren’t you just Stealthy McSneakerson the Super Spy.”

“Fun fact,” he said, “I actually considered taking that for my Railroad codename.”

“Why ‘Deacon,’ anyway?” I asked.

“Don’t change the subject, Our Lady of Perpetual Aid and Comfort to the Enemy.” 

“I’ve killed enough Brotherhood to last a lifetime,” I said. “I told PAM that, right off the bat. It’s not my fault if she didn’t listen.”

“So this one?” he said seriously. “You gonna cut me a break? Do our job? Take a few more tin cans out of commission? PAM says this one’s crucial. Whatever’s up at Listening Post Bravo, it could make or break the peace of the Commonwealth. Depending on what we do.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Then I guess we better do the right thing.”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so,” said Deacon. “That’s easy enough. Great. Fantastic. We have a plan! No way this can go wrong, because we’ll just _do the right thing!”_

“I never said it was going to be-- hey, baby,” I said, as Shaun came up to us, dragging my overloaded pack. “All set?”

“Mom,” said Shaun, as I groaned involuntarily under the weight of the pack he’d brought me. He was still holding one book in his hand, his finger inserted to mark a page. “What day of the week was I born?”

I blinked down at him. “What?”

“I mean-- not born,” he said. “But what day was it when you got me? When you brought me home?”

The flashing emergency lights, the dead first- and second-gens and coursers and stupid fucking scientists who wouldn’t fucking stop shooting until they died, the buzz and crackle of the relay, the pain in my shoulder and in my leg, the smell of blood and ozone, Father’s last bitter words ringing in my ears, and the bright-eyed little boy in the white jumpsuit, calling me mom. 

_Nobody told me. You just are._

“Friday,” I said. “It was a Friday. Why?”

“There’s a rhyme in here,” he said, opening the book to the page he’d been marking. “About what day you were born. It says Friday’s child is loving and giving.”

“Well, that’s true for you, sweetheart,” I said, pushing back the memories, trying to smile. “What about me? I was born on a Thursday.”

“Thursday’s child has far to go,” he read.

“Well, that explains a lot,” I said. “Speaking of which. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! (For now!) Thanks so much for everyone who's been reading, most especially for everyone who's been kind enough to leave kudos, and thrice especially for the wonderful ones who've been kind enough to comment. Special shoutout to boomslang, without whose amazingly generous feedback this series would absolutely not have ever gotten this long, and I certainly would not be contemplating any more. Merci mille fois, and stay tuned!


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